The Hosts

A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)

Purged, with the life they left, of all

That makes life paltry and mean and small,

In their new dedication charged

With something heightened, enriched, enlarged,

That lends a light to their lusty brows

And a song to the rhythm of their tramping feet,

These are the men that have taken vows,

These are the hardy, the flower, the elite, —

These are the men that are moved no more

By the will to traffic and grasp and store

And ring with pleasure and wealth and love

The circles that self is the center of;

But they are moved by the powers that force

The sea forever to ebb and rise,

That hold Arcturus in his course,

And marshal at noon in tropic skies

The clouds that tower on some snow-capped chain

And drift out over the peopled plain.

They are big with the beauty of cosmic things.

Mark how their columns surge! They seem

To follow the goddess with outspread wings

That points toward Glory, the soldier’s dream.

With bayonets bare and flags unfurled,

They scale the summits of the world

And fade on the farthest golden height

In fair horizons full of light.

Comrades in arms there — friend or foe —

That trod the perilous, toilsome trail

Through a world of ruin and blood and woe

In the years of the great decision — hail!

Friend or foe, it shall matter nought;

This only matters, in fine: we fought.

For we were young and in love or strife

Sought exultation and craved excess:

To sound the wildest debauch in life

We staked our youth and its loveliness.

Let idlers argue the right and wrong

And weigh what merit our causes had.

Putting our faith in being strong —

Above the level of good and bad —

For us, we battled and burned and killed

Because evolving Nature willed,

And it was our pride and boast to be

The instruments of Destiny.

There was a stately drama writ

By the hand that peopled the earth and air

And set the stars in the infinite

And made night gorgeous and morning fair,

And all that had sense to reason knew

That bloody drama must be gone through.

Some sat and watched how the action veered —

Waited, profited, trembled, cheered —

We saw not clearly nor understood,

But yielding ourselves to the masterhand,

Each in his part as best he could,

We played it through as the author planned.

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• Yarrow Revisited by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Written With A Slate Pencil On A Stone, On The Side Of The Mountain Of Black Comb by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Written Upon A Blank Leaf In “The Complete Angler.” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Written In Very Early Youth by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Written in March by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Written in London. September, 1802 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Written In Germany On One Of The Coldest Days Of The Century by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Written In A Blank Leaf Of Macpherson’s Ossian by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• With How Sad Steps, O Moon, Thou Climb’st the Sky by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Who Fancied What A Pretty Sight by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Where Lies The Land To Which Yon Ship Must Go? by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• When To The Attractions Of The Busy World by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• “When I Have Borne In Memory” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Weak Is The Will Of Man, His Judgement Blind by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Water-Fowl Observed Frequently Over The Lakes Of Rydal And Grasmere by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Waldenses by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• View From The Top Of Black Comb by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Vernal Ode by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Vaudracour And Julia by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth

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