_By Cynthia Westover Alden_
The brawny lad in khaki clad,
We rightly cheer. Alas,
My eyes grow dim! I weigh with him,
The boy
Who failed
To pass.
A heart more brave no man could have,
His soul as clear as glass.
He faced with zest the doctor-test--
The boy
Who failed
To pass.
And now the blow is hurting so,
He sees the legions mass.
They go to war. Be sorry for
The boy
Who failed
To pass.
The future grim is flouting him
As in the weakling class.
Though fine and true, his years are few--
The boy
Who failed
To pass.
For warriors proud blow bugles loud,
Of silver or of brass;
One wreath of rue is due unto
The boy
Who failed
To pass.