View Full Version : Warriors Lament
Guys, I'm throwing this out there to see if any of you over the years had written anything you might want to share with the rest of us. I'm not writing a book or songs.....just interested.
GOD SPEAKS OF THE WARRIOR
I have been with him on the mountain. So cold the tips of his fingers stung. He did not move for days. Hungry, tired and alone. He would not speak to me.
I have been with him in the desert heat. Trying to rest. Pulling a dirty scarf over his face for shade. Lips dry. Hungry, tired and alone. He would not speak to me.
I have been with him in the jungle. Wet for days. Walking endlessly. Killing bugs, pulling leeches. Hungry, tired and alone. He would not speak to me.
Yet, I cannot say he never spoke to me. There was a time as he cradled a fellow warrior in his arms.....He said, "Oh God! How will I tell his daughter?" Tired, alone with fear this time.
And now as he prepares to leave the warriors life, he asks....."Forgive me?" "Of course, I reply".
Your silence is understood here. As are you and your brothers.
"Q"
Q,
Haven't actually written anything down, but certainly have had the thoughts...very good post, I can relate. Hope you get some more so that those of us who have a hard time putting our feelings down can enjoy and relate to.
Stevie
NousDefionsDoc
03-19-2006, 17:56
Beautiful Q. Simply beautiful.
Q.,
Eloquent and elegantly moving. So few words, yet they seem to capture all that members here express of the experience of the SF Brotherhood.
Thank you. I am in awe.
God Bless all of our Warriors.
Warrior-Mentor
03-20-2006, 08:50
Thanks Q.
I'm glad you guys like it. I really want anyone else out there who might have something to join in. It don't have to be yours just something you may have seen or heard. I've got another one signed unkown sent to me by an old "leg" (used in an affectionate way of course) buddy from the 101st. I'll post it in a bit. What got me thinking about this sort of thing was that old Christmas song that gets played on the country stations each year...I believe its called the "Soldiers or Warriors Christmas" ?? I think we or better yet our fellow countymen need to hear more of that type music to remind them why they can get up every mornin' free. Well, this is me jumpin' off the soapbox. See ya in a bit. "Q".
OK, here is the one my old "Leg" buddy from the 101 sent me:
The soldier stood and faced God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
"Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My Church have you been true?"
The soldier squared his shoulders and said,
"No, Lord, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint.
I've had to work Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And somethimes I've been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills got just too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.
If you've a place for me here, Lord,
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't, I'll understand.
There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgement of his God.
"Step forward now, you soldier,
You've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell."
Author Unknown
"Q".
Q I would like to say first, the first one you wrote was just very calming and beauitful. The second one was also beautiful and it made me stop and think if I can relate to anything in that nature which was very refreshing.
GhostInTheShell
04-26-2006, 16:47
I've never been in the situation and can't imagine what it is like, but I know a beautiful piece of work when I read it.
Very nice, Q. That song is nice, too, but I think your work is more deeply rooted in the emotions of a warrior.
Thank you for sharing it with us.
helicom6
05-05-2006, 00:23
From Rhymes of a Red Cross Man, 1916
Young Fellow My Lad
" Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."
"But you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;
You are'nt obliged to go."
" I'm seventeen and a quarter, Dad,
and ever so strong, you know."
"So you're off to France, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you're looking so fit and bright."
"I'm terribly sorry to leave you, Dad,
But I feel that I'm doing right."
"God bless you and keep you, Young Fellow My Lad,
You're all of my life, you know."
"Don't worry. I'll be back, dear Dad,
And I'm awfully proud to go."
"Why don't you write, Young fellow My Lad?
I watch for post each day;
And I miss you so, and I'm awfully sad,
And it's months since you went away.
And I've had the frie in the parlour lit,
And I'm keeping it burning bright
Till my boy comes home; and here i sit
Into the quiet night."
"What is the matter, Young Fellow My Lad?
No letter again to-day.
Why did the postman look so sad,
And sighed as he went away?
I hear them tell that we've gained new ground,
But a terrible price we've paid:
God grant, my boy, That you're safe and sound;
But Oh I'm afraid, afraid."
"They've told me the truth, Young Fellow my Lad:
You'll never come back again:
(Oh God! The dreams and the dreams I've had,
And the hopes I've nursed in vain!)
For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you proved in the cruel test
Of the screaming shell and battle hell
That my boy was one of the best.
"So you'll live, you'll live, Young Fellow my Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star'
In the wood-note wild and the laugh of a child,
In all sweet things that are.
And you'll never die, my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true;
For all our beauty and hope and joy
We will owe to Lads like you."
Enough said! Good Night
Thank you,
That poem was profound.
And if I go while you're still here.....
Know that I still live on,
Vibrating to a different measure
behind a thin veil you cannot see through
You will not see me,
so you must have faith
I wait the time when we can soar together again,
both aware of each other.
Until then, live your life to the fullest,
And when you need me,
Just whisper my name in your heart......I will be there
Alright, we are finally getting some response. Thanks guys, quality stuff. I appreciate the kudos. I know there are more out there. Some of you have sent me some really outstanding words on the PM. Thats great but the guys you want to read this are here. We have a problem amongst "Type A" personalities, we don't talk much. We don't give up whats down deep. Until its quiet and you are alone. Whether you are at home or not. Then it all starts coming back to you and you've got to dump it. You can write your own, appreciate some good words from a brother or read something written out of respect. This is your/our opportunity to get it off your chest or help a brother or just plain show some respect. Awaiting your thoughts.
Back again! I just read Billy's book. I changed my signature to a quote he made at the front of his book. Here is the whole thing:
Then I heard the Lord's voice, saying, "Whom can I send? Who will go for us?" So I said, "Here I am. Send me!" Then the Lord said, "Go and tell this to the people:
You will listen and listen, but you will not understand. You will look and look, but you will not learn. Make the minds of these people dumb. Shut their ears. Cover their eyes. Otherwise, they might really understand what they see with their eyes and hear with their ears.
They might really understand in their minds and come back to me and be healed." Then I asked. "Lord, how long should I do this?"
He answered,
"Until the cities are destroyed and the people are gone, until there are no people left in the houses, until the land is destroyed and left empty.
Isaiah 6: 8-12
Polar Bear
05-11-2006, 17:53
Build Me a Son
General Douglas A. MacArthur
Build me a son, O Lord,
who will be strong enough to know when he is weak,
and brave enough to face him self when he is afraid;
one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat,
and humble and gentle in victory.
Build me a son whose wishbone will not be
where his backbone should be;
a son who will know Thee- and that
to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge.
Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort,
but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge.
Here, let him learn to stand up in the storm;
here, let him team compassion for those who fall.
Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goals will be high;
a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men;
one who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep;
one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.
And after all these things are his,
add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor,
so that he may always be serious,
yet never take himself too seriously.
Give him humility, so that he may always remember
the simplicity of true greatness,
the open mind of true wisdom,
the meekness of true strength.
Then I, his father, will dare to whisper,
"I have not lived in vain."
helicom6
05-11-2006, 19:36
We are too old for war. And Old men should stop war.
The Duke...
Not to put us out of jobs. Would love too see different for our children.
Robert
Can't seem to delete this.
helicom6
06-01-2006, 16:57
Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men may stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.
Isaiah 41:30-31
Sorry, the Duke quote was not good. Delete at will!!
Hope this is of better service. It is for me when I am climbing in the mountains and training.
PeteyMcPete
06-01-2006, 18:08
I dont know if you guys have heard this but its the ANZAC creed and part is quoted at each ANZAC day ceremony.
For those to lazy to read the whole thing the quoted part is the 3rd and 4th stanza. Oh, and Q great work on those Laments im going to throw them up for inspiration.
Thanks again.
FOR THE FALLEN
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children
England mourns for her dead across the sea,
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow,
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again,
They sit no more at familiar tables of home,
They have no lot in our labour of the daytime,
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires and hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the night.
As the stars shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are stary in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Author: Laurence Binyon (so people dont think i wrote it).
A particularly moving song is "I was only 19" by Redgum is basically an account of the vietnamese war from the ground.
Well worth a check out if you can get your hands on it. Dont get the version by the herd unless you want a bunch of shockingly done rap inbetween the good parts.
Im sure half of you dont care, but its worth a look anyway.
Thanks.
This is good stuff. We keep this up and one of you guys that can write might want to publish!!!!??? Petey....excellent. And I wasn't trying to delete your stuff Bob. I had written a rather drunken poem on extraction and when I sobered up I decided to delete it. Damn Mexican brews will do it to you every time. But I love' em. "Q".
LibraryLady
06-07-2006, 23:18
Q,
I think this is the song to which you refer. A Soldier's Silent Night (http://www.tankmastergunner.com/silent%20night.htm)
The site is incorrect on the origins of the poem, though. It was written by a Marine in 1986. The song is the soldier's version and there is also a sailor's version circulating. Snopes has the scoop (http://www.snopes.com/holidays/christmas/soldier.asp) on all the versions.
Thank you for putting your words out for all of us to see. I've a 62 yo 'Nam vet friend who's finally learning to do the same. I am in awe of you men and all that you do/have done and sacrificed along the way.
LL
Yeah thats the one. I'm sorry that I may have misquoted or misstated. The essence was still there and it came from the heart. We remember those cold nights.....alone. We remember those hot nights.....alone. We remember the deadly nights .......alone. Not that we were by ourselves....just alone in fear. As it flashes past. And we continue to move.......move on to the next ........ and to the next....swallow hard....and the next.....and its over. For now. As I live for the next. We all live for the next.......for that is who we are....forever. "Q".
Spartan12
06-08-2006, 03:56
FreedoM isn't free.
In a dark, mysterious, and far-away land,
A soldier is fighting on his own....but not alone.
There are many others like him out there,
Protecting this country, protecting your home.
He is prepared to lay down his life,
For whatever the cause maybe.
He protects and honors for the principles of freedom,
Which allow you to become who ever you want to be.
He is often unappreciated,
And often misunderstood.
Very few can withstand the challenges he overcome,
Very few have....very few would.
A wise man once said,
"Nothing in life is free".
There has been a sacrifice for every dollar you have made,
And for every breath that you breathe.
Some will be torn from their families,
In order to protect yours.
Some will die and leave behind their family,
All because of another man's WAR.
Unfortunately blood will be shed,
And there is no way America can avoid it.
"Kill or be killed", a bold statement indeed, but....
That is the thought they are deployed with,
FREEDOM ISN'T FREE!
Author Unknown.
helicom6
06-08-2006, 16:28
This is good stuff. We keep this up and one of you guys that can write might want to publish!!!!??? Petey....excellent. And I wasn't trying to delete your stuff Bob. I had written a rather drunken poem on extraction and when I sobered up I decided to delete it. Damn Mexican brews will do it to you every time. But I love' em. "Q".
Know the feeling Q....I usually get to write lat at night when the boys and wife are asleep and I can sit back and enjoy a bourbon or Tecate and limes!
Taking a few moments from working on my basement to relay this story....
I was stationed at Ft. Eustis, VA. in 2000...Took some weekend leave to check out the battlefields at Jamestown. Had a quick look around the museum and made my way out to the fields (killing fields?). I found a place in the middle of the embattlements and laid down in the grass...closed my eyes and listened.
The images of these men going to battle, the sounds of war, the smell of gunfire surrounded me. I realized after an undetermined amount of time that I had tears running down my face.
This was the moment that my decision to fight and protect this land we call free...America...had become more than I thought. It has been won by countless and unknown faces. Call it an epiphany or just my fate, but this would change and shape my heart forever.
I truly knew that I was a soldier and soldiering took on a whole new meaning.
This is my lament to those that have come before me and have given everything for the right to have a free Republic.
Courage and knowledge are nothing unless you are willing to share it with the world.
Adios
In Flanders Fields (WW1)
J McCrae, MD, CAN Army
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
helicom6
06-13-2006, 14:58
What do I thirst for?
maqettaH. DebDaq maqettaH ’ej bIQ manejtaH.
’Iwmaj pubtaH Hov.
bIQ vIjatlaH. So’lu’pu’ lan peghDaq,
’a pegh vISov.
bIQ nejwI’ ghaH may’wI’:
may’ teH ghaH may’wI’ tIqDaq.
teH Dunbej law’qu’ ’ach lutmey Dunlaw’ puS.
jImay’’eghtaHchugh,
jIchargh’eghtaH je.
Qapla’! We run. Through the desert we run, and look for water.
The sun boils our blood.
I can taste the water. It is hidden in a secret place,
but I know the secret.
Who seeks the water is a warrior:
the true battle is in the warrior’s heart.
Legends are said to be great, but truth is greater indeed.
If I am battling myself,
I am conquering too.
Success!
boqwIj ’oH Hal boqmaj.
Sov’eghbogh HoS,
’ej tammoH Qo’bogh tun.
DaH pungbe’ ’Iw chuS QoywIjDaq
yuv tammoH ’ej chuSDaq jIQoy.
tujtaHbogh SuS ’ej tomtaHbogh qemtaH jev,
’ej jI’ojtaH. bIQ vIneQtaHbogh ’oH ’Iw.
yIn Hegh je SuvDaq jIlegh’egh.
may’ rInbe’qu’.
’oH wIjeylaHbe’bogh maSuvtaH.
boqvamDaq che’bejtaH roj,
’ej veSmaj maSuvbejtaH poHpu’ poHDaq.
Qapla’! My alliance is the source of our alliance.
There is strength in knowing oneself,
and softness in refusing the silence.
Now silence pushes unrelenting
against the rush of blood in my ears
and in the roar I hear it.
The storm brings a wind which is hot and quiet,
and I thirst. The water I want is blood.
In life and death’s struggle I see myself:
The battle is unending.
We fight the undefeatable.
In this alliance peace will reign,
and our war will go on forever.
Success!
Michael Everson
Los Angeles, 1988-04-04
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We keep this up and one of you guys that can write might want to publish!!!!???
Okay, Sir! I have been on a "mini-vacation" for a month here, so when I am starting to get back in physical shape or still find fitting words, I will write something. Right now I am leaning back and taking pleasure in the little things, in family and of having few projects on my hands.
Also taking time to pick subject, as I told you I do not want to speak too strongly about things that I may feel, but may not be equally well supported by experience or knowledge.
However, from the e-mail sent to you:
It Takes Courage, by Nick Cavallaro*
It takes courage
To be the parents of a promising lad,
The pride and hope of his mother and dad.
To sacrifice him with a brave farewell,
To suffer the pangs of a warring hell.
It takes courage
To leave the home he loves so well
To face the battle shot and shell.
With bullets flying 'round his head'
And about his feet the dying and dead.
It takes courage
To answer the call for a new recruit
To jump from a plane with a parachute,
He sweats it out to the cannon sound,
While the enemy awaits him on the ground
It takes courage
To fly a plane and high in the sky,
To fight to victory, or fail and die.
To pilot a ship to the depths of the sea,
And do it all just for you and me.
It takes courage
For the bravest and the best who go to the front,
To lay down their lives, to bear the brunt,
To be poisoned with gas, to tread the pike,
with others at home on a sit down strike
It takes courage
Friends, when we salute the American Flag
We are not just saluting a beautiful rag,
For she unfurls, on her towering mast
There's courage of the future and courage of the past.
Now the privilige yours, the duty mine,
To show our courage behind the lines,
To give, to work, to preach, to pray,
until God grants Old Glory a peaceful day.
Then this world will be a paradise,
and we'll reap the reward of sacrifice,
For Christ shall be known as prince of peace
When this hell on earth, these wars shall cease.
*Nick Cavallaro, Anmoore, WV. Original member of 82nd Abn. Fought in North Africa, Sicily, Italy, Normandy, Holland, and was killed in Belgium, January 3, 1945, during the Battle of the Bulge. (as printed in the Clarksburg Exponent/Telegram, Clarksburg, WV., 11 Nov 2000)
airbornediver
10-28-2006, 10:54
extremely well written and touching writings that are in this thread.
over here, they're helpful in understanding things.
thanks.
Thanks "Q" for starting a gret thread. The statement re: type A and our unrelenting silence is not missed on us, but the words here convey meanings we may not speak of, but do understand.
MolonLabe
11-10-2006, 11:35
Grim and tattered, pissed stained and blood spattered
Marching on to the beat of the drum, the hum, of off shore guns
No one can mistake the fire and ache as anything less then from the lives they must take
Marching on to the beat of the drum, the hum, of off shore guns
Not just the breath and blood of the enemy is spilled from the chest,
Propaganda from the inky black sky, to far flung lands,
Catching another young mans eyes, he will clench it and claim it as his own,
Until it's stolen, far far from his home.
Marching on to the beat of the drum, the hum, of off shore guns
Noslack71
11-15-2006, 20:16
Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach trees fruited deep,
Fair as the garden of the Lord
to the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall;
Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind; the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
"Halt!" the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
"Fire!" out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.
She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.
"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country's flag," she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word;
"Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.
All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet:
All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And through the hill-gaps sunset light
shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
and the Rebel rides on his raids no more.
Honor to her! And let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!
Peace and order and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!
My father was a sailor with Arleigh Burke and " The Little Beaver Squadron " DESRON 23 during WWII. This poem was in a small book of poems and patriotic readings given to each crew member by the citizens of (I belive it was either San Francisco or Long Beach CA) just before they sailed out to the Pacific in early 1942. This poem was one of his favorites. He kept the book and, read it often until his death.
Been out of the net for awhile. Checked Laments and saw some exceptional stuff. keep 'em comimg guys. This thread is appreciated by all.
frostfire
03-21-2007, 08:07
this always remind me of JM Sir
SEPTUAGENARIAN SOLILOQUY
I must admit I creak a bit
When out of bed I stumble;
I'm growing old, I feel the cold,
I grunt - but never grumble.
I suffer as my lumbar discs
Disintegrate and crumble;
It cramps my style and all the while
I grunt - but never grumble.
My prostate gets me up at night,
I eructate and rumble;
The wind of change has got my range;
I grunt - but never grumble.
I'm getting very clumsy too
And often take a tumble;
And then you see, I twist my knee
I grunt - but never grumble.
And when I do my daily chores
My thumbs and fingers fumble;
When washing up breaks plate or cup
I grunt - but never grumble.
I find it difficult to bend
And when I talk I mumble;
But though I curse, it might be worse,
I grunt - but never grumble.
So whether fate has cast your lot,
In quarters grand or humble,
Pull up your socks, my fellow crocks,
I grunt - but never grumble.
The Reaper
03-21-2007, 08:34
"The greatest joy a man can know is to conquer his enemies and drive them before him, to ride their horses and take away their possessions, to see the faces of those dear to them bedewed with tears, and to clasp their wives and daughters in their arms" Ghengis Khan
"A commander in chief therefore, what power and dignity are so great and to whose fidelity and bravery the fortunes of his country men, the defense of our cities, the lives of the soldiers, and the glory of the state, are entrusted, should not only consult the good of the army in general, but extend his care to every private soldier in it. For when any misfortunes happen to those under his command, they are considered as public losses and imputed entirely to his misconduct" Flavius Vegitius
"If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, then go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsel or arms, crouch down and lick the hands which feed you, may your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that you were our countrymen"! Samuel Adams
"It has been my experience that superior people are attracted only by challenge. By setting our standards low and making our life soft, we have, quite automatically, and unconsciously, assured ourselves of mediocre people." From the Ugly American
"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of mind that thinks nothing is worth fighting for is far worse" John Stuart Mill
"There are no victories at bargain basement prices" Dwight D. Eisenhower
"There is no security on this earth, only opportunity" Fred Smith
"Our object ought to be to have a good army rather than a large one" George Washington (15 September 1770)
"By the rude bridge that arched the flood, their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, and fired the shot heard round the world" Ralph Waldo Emerson
"The Republic never retreats. Its flag is the only flag that has never known defeat. Where that flag leads we follow, for we know that the hand that bears it onward is the unseen hand of God. We follow the flag and independence is ours. We follow the flag and nationality is ours. We follow the flag and oceans are ruled. We follow the flag, and in Occident and Orient tyranny falls and barbarism is subdued. We followed the flag at Trenton and Valley Forge, at Buena Vista and Chapultec, at Gettysburg and Mission Ridge, at Santiago and Manilla, and everywhere and always it means larger liberty, nobler opportunity, and greater human happiness; for everywhere and always it means the blessings of the greater Republic. And so God leads, we follow the flag, and the Republic never retreats" Albert J. Bevridge
"You cannot be saved by valor and devotion to your ancestors. To each generation comes its patriotic duty, and upon your willingness to sacrifice and endure, as those before you have sacrificed and endured, rests the national hope" Charles Evans Hughes
"The man who loves his country on its own account and not merely for its trappings of interest or power, can never be divorced from it, can never refuse to come forward when he finds that she is engaged in dangers which he has the means of warding off"
"Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty"
"If you expect a nation to be ignorant and free, you expect what never was and never will be"
Thomas Jefferson
Russell S
03-21-2007, 19:10
At some point before my insertion into Pineland during the Q course, one of the guys on my team (from one of the Ranger BNs) pulled out a poem from WWII written by an SS soldier if I remember correctly. I used to have a copy of the poem but can't find it.... As I recall, it talked about the things a soldier faces in fighting for his country.
Might anyone have any idea about the poem? I know this is not a lot to go on....
I was sent a CD of different songs during my last deployment, and this song, "Prayer to St. Peter" as sung by Edwin McCain, was on it.
"Prayer To St. Peter"
Let them in, Peter
For they are very tired
Give them couches where the angels sleep
And light those fires
Let them wake whole again
To brand new dawns
Fired by the sun
Not war-times bloody guns
May their peace be deep
Remember where the broken bodies lie
God knows how young they were
To have to die
You know God knows how young they were
To have to die
Give them things they like
Let them make some noise
Give dance hall bands not golden harps
To these our boys
Let them love Peter
For they've had no time
They should have bird songs and trees
And hills to climb
The taste of summer
And a ripened pear
And girls as sweet as meadow wind
And flowing hair
And tell them how they are missed
But say not to fear
It's gonna be all right
With us down here
Let them in, Peter
For they are very tired
Give them couches where the angels sleep
And light those fires
Let them wake whole again
To brand new dawns
Fired by the sun
Not war-times bloody guns
May their peace be deep
Remember where the broken bodies lie
God knows how young they were
To have to die
You know God knows how young they were
To have to die
And tell them how they are missed
But say not to fear
It's gonna be all right
With us down here
It's gonna be all right
With us down here
Ladyhawke
03-22-2007, 07:55
I believe in what I fight for
And I have paid for it with pain
I am here because my contributions
May help turn this fate away
And all who stood by and did nothing
Who are they to criticize?
The sacrifices of others
Our blood has bought their lives
Cruxshadows--Eye of the Storm
Is anyone here familiar with the works of Siegfried Sassoon or Wilfred Owen? Two young men who were soldiers in the first world war, serving for Britain. Owen perished, but Sassoon survived, was decorated as a hero (his nickname in the trenches was "Mad Jack"), and went on to protest the poor treatment of soldiers to the British government. Their poems seem (IMHO) to be some of the simplest and truest accounts of soldiering, and are filled with a moral fury. I don't have time to seek out the entire verse, but a piece (from memory, so bear with me if its wrong) that I always liked from one of Sassoon's poems...
"...You smug-faced crowds, with kindling eye,
who cheer when soldier lads march by,
creep home and pray you never know,
that hell where youth and laughter go."
Firewolf
03-22-2007, 15:03
I believe one of owen's poems was "Dulce Et Decorum Est" which I've always found to be a haunting reminder of what this nation and many others have faced on the battlefield.
I'm sorry if I missed it, but did anyone post "Invictus?" William Henley's poem has always given me a stronger resolve in the 11th hour.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
The Killing House
trained to the peak, and wound up with a pin
waiting to release the explosion within
target selected, adrenaline kicks in,
getting ready,
to release the explosion within
approaching the target the walls look so thin
protecting our targets, our targets within
filter in just like shadows, the ball starts rolling
and its time to begin
some arsehole in whitehall , has just pulled the pin
your brothers around you, the door get's blown in
you move into the darkness, you know where to begin
to release on your targets, that explosion within
its over in seconds, your brothers are in
all releasing their explosions their explosions within
everything is all calm now, but adrenlin still kicks in
as you filter back thro, the walls your within
checking all you survey now, all desruction and sin
your brothers around you, the shits been flyin
you check the faces around you
your brothers and kin, then pause for a second
to look for your pin
and now your a civie, with your loved kith and kin
and try a new start, a new start to begin
and keep it all bottled up,that explosion within:
but who gives a fuck:
you cared, you dared, you won
Unknown twentytwo soldier.
helicom6
04-08-2007, 01:29
What if I am gone,
Who will look after my sons?
Will they know to ask for the twenty one guns?
I have asked them to believe
In the reasons why I must leave.
I fight for our country,
For my sons to know life's bounty.
Time is short, but love holds true,
Your Daddy is fighting for the red, white and blue.
The time has come for us to say good bye,
I know that God holds us up on high.
I will do my best to stay alive,
Even when I meet the enemy's deadly hive.
This I hold as true,
A duty I must do.
To fight for those that have no freedom in their lives,
A fight without compromise.
You will do the same one day,
Let not my courage fade to grey.
Believe, in life's solitude ,
That my service will be in gratitude.
My sons will be great men,
who will live under God's right hand.
I love you Kyle, Caleb and Alden!!
frostfire
08-31-2007, 12:56
Don't Quit
When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow--
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out--
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.
-unknown
Mercenary
"What God abandoned, these defended." Houseman
He was a Nung:
Chinese, born i South Vietnam,
when that was a country.
He lived as a paid soldier;
one of our "little people,"
as loyal as money and promises
for family can secure.
I called him "Louie,"
because some other before me,
some other in a one-year-at-a-time war,
tagged him with that,
maybe five or six Americans ago.
Standing beside him mad me feel tall,
at five-ten;
but he smiled under the huge rucksack
whose weight seemed always on the brink
of dragging him backward.
Louie was not exactly a friend,
we were partners i war,
but I was the advisor
he, the student who taught:
hired to protect in those lonely sectors
whose names, if there were names,
rang strange tones,
even in Vietnamese ears;
places where U.S. forces did not go
--officially.
My bodyguard: a constant--
always there,
had always been there, it seemed.
An extension, doubling the senses,
buying the luxury of thought,
one mind guarded by the other.
When thought was shattered:
when ripping sniper bullets splashed
against the canopied silence like rocks
slashed by handfuls into a placid lake:
the shield that he was protected,
but his heavy load
finally pulled him down.
Others did the necessary things,
and sudden quiet wrapped around.
Kneeling beside Louie,
cupping hands under him
as if to catch and save
all that blood;
my fingers could not hold enough
to give back
what we had bought.
From: "Finding the Way Home"
by Tom Drinkard, MACV-SOG 67-68
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;
I always liked this poem which, according to many respectable Civil War sources, was written in strict conformity to the account of the incident . It has since been the subject of a good deal of conflicting testimony, and the story was probably incorrect in some of its details. It is admitted by all that Barbara Frietchie was no myth, but a worthy and highly esteemed gentlewoman, intensely loyal and a hater of the Slavery Rebellion, holding her Union flag sacred and keeping it with her Bible; that when the Confederates halted before her house, and entered her dooryard, she denounced them in vigorous language, shook her cane in their faces, and drove them out; and when General Burnside's troops followed close upon Jackson's, she waved her flag and cheered them. It is stated that May Qnantrell, a brave and loyal lady in another part of the city, did wave her flag in sight of the Confederates. It is possible that there has been a blending of the two incidents.
An interesting side note, Winston Churchill recited the poem to FDR while driving through Frederick, Maryland. It is said that the President was embarrassed that Churchill knew more about this piece of American history than he did. FWIW, our school is named after Sir Winston Churchill and he knew more about a lot of history than many ffolkes did.
BTW - DESRON23 was home ported out of San Francisco.
bricklayer
10-25-2007, 17:36
This is a newer song and im not sure if he wrote it. But I suggest listening to it if you have not heard it already!
BY Tim McGraw:
If you’re reading this
My momma is sitting there
Looks like I only got a one way ticket over here
I sure wish I could give you one more kiss
War was just a game we played when we were kids
Well I’m laying down my gun
I’m hanging up my boots
I’m up here with God
And we’re both watching over you
So lay me down
In that open field out on the edge of town
And know my soul
Is where my momma always prayed that it would go.
If you’re reading this I’m already home.
If you’re reading this
Half way around the world
I won’t be there to see the birth of our little girl
I hope she looks like you
I hope she fights like me
Stands up for the innocent and the weak
I’m laying down my gun
Hanging up my boots
Tell dad I don’t regret that I followed in his shoes
So lay me down
In that open field out on the edge of town
And know my soul
is where my momma always prayed that it would go
If you’re reading this, I’m already home
If you’re reading this,
There is going to come a day
You move on and find someone else and that’s okay
Just remember this
I’m in a better place
Soldiers live in peace and angels sing amazing grace
So lay me down
In that open field out on the edge of town
And know my soul is where my momma prayed that it would go
If you’re reading this
If you’re reading this
I’m already home
I have sworn upon the altar of God, eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man. - Thomas Jefferson, 1800 - letter to Benjamin Rush
I had always hoped that the younger generation receiving their early impressions after the flame of liberty had been kindled in every breast...would have sympathized with oppression wherever found, and proved their love of liberty beyond their own share of it. - Thomas Jefferson, 1814 - letter to Edward Coles
The pockets of our great coats full of barley--
No kitchens on the run, no striking camp--
We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
The priest lay behind ditches whith the tramp.
A people, hardly marching--on the hike--
We found new tactics happening each day:
We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike
And stampede cattle into infantry,
Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.
Until, on Vinegar Hill, the fatal conclave.
Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August the barley grew up out of the grave.
Requiem for the Croppies by Seamus Heaney, 1967
Demerde-toi
12-09-2007, 10:53
Great thread and reminds me of a diary that I kept while "En Afrik" on my first deployment. Will dig thru some boxes and see if I can contribute. The very first post on this thread....hits home, thanks.
G
CosaNostraUSMC
12-09-2007, 22:54
My thoughts at this very moment, from my experiences...
"A sandy time, foreign shores yet all too much my home, where I once found myself... lost.
The days hot, come and go, everywhere and no where. Am I truely there or halfway here.
Nights I remember, gritty, bitter sweet, 72 virgins in silence... they ask of it.
Minarets the sky, my newborn son, me vs them, the world in my ruck... no time but the now.
Where the fuck is the ocean?!
Gambling against the odds? We are the odds. Spaghetti or Chowmein... wanna trade? al Asad with my boys or alone with my flag... how will I come home?
My finger is a decade ahead of my age, experienced the hard way. A burden to my Springfield, I must not fail it.
Flashes of light in threes, no sound, it's raining brass, THEY'RE ALL WET... for I am dry and only want one.
Attention all frequencies, QRF is now Chuck Norris!
Birds of prey, steel blue sky, angels circling with 5,000 ways out. We are their epicenter, relish this moment gents.
Those things I long to forget, myself, the past, the now... I want them again.
Now I'm found. Starbucks, plasma tv, a mattress, credit cards, bills, Democrats for Democracy?
When I was there, there was no paralax... now paralax is all around.
You were the best men I never did have at my wedding, we helped shape history... I would do it over.
When can I get "lost" again?!"
-CosaNostraUSMC
But all posts and words from the heart are being chopped out to word and saved as memories.
Goose bumps head to toe is not even close.......
DEFINITION OF A VETERAN
A Veteran - whether active duty, retired, national guard or reserve - is someone who, at one point in their life, wrote a check made payable to "The United States of America", for an amount of "up to and including my life."
Author Unknown
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:27
Poem about the Munsan-ni Combat Jump. Korean War Combat Jump
by: Peter Griffin
On Good Friday, March, 23rd , 1951,
A major Airborne assault, had begun....
145 combat cargo planes, filled the sky,
Thousands of communists, about to die....
3,300 troopers of the* 187th Airborne Regimental Combat Team,
Did "hit the silk", each man, lean and mean....
Hitting the ground, their weapons readied,
Their enemy, 20,000 strong, there was a plenty....!
Behind the Paratroopers, came the heavy drops,
The 674th Field Artillery, battle ready, completed the lot.....
A first, this jump, made Airborne history,
But would "Operation Tomahawk", end in victory....?
Landing south of Munsan-ni, nine miles from North Korea,
Behind enemy lines, could they fulfill this panacea.....?
After securing the vast drop zone,
Fight, then advance, they set their tone......
For two bloody days, they kept this pitch,
Always in the open, no cover, nary a ditch....
Fight, hurry, reach Uijongbu, cut the enemy supply route,
Rain, wet ground, heavy, ,muddy, sloshing,-jump boots....
Day break, Easter Sunday, secure the hill ahead,
The cost, be much blood and dead....
In a horizontal formation, they moved out,
Crossing flat land, they suspected, a gory bout...
All of the sudden, all hell broke out,
Came swarms of enemy, "charge", in Chinese, they did shout....!
For awhile, the "Rakkasans", held their own,
Just too many bastards, how their numbers had grown.....!
Swinging and firing, "burp guns", from the hip,
Troopers falling,* "slap, slap," as they were hit....!
Deadly enemy fire, slowing their advance,
"Keep moving forward", must take the chance.....!
The 187 opened up with a roar,
Killing Chinese, by the score....!
But still, troopers fell, with moans and shrieks,
Such depleted ranks, their outlook bleak....!
This bloody place, called Parun-ni,
Many a soldier, faced eternity.....
Not able to advance, nor retreat,
Suddenly artillery, boom, boom, repeat, repeat....!
The enemy dispersed and scurried away,
The 674th had saved the day....!
For a few moments, they caught their breath,
Not enough time, to eat or rest....
It rained, again, as the "Rakkasans" counter-attacked,
Avenging soldiers, they'd offer no slack.....!
The enemy dead, piled up before them,
Enemy strength, no longer a quorum.....!
Chasing the Chinese, up and over, the objective,
Now, total annihilation, the enemy, would be subjective....
To their front, loomed, another great hill,
Reaching its peak, they set up the kill.....
It's a mountain!, as they surveyed that rise,
A large land mass, met their eyes....!
With such depleted ranks, could they hold them back?
To their despair, bugles sounded a full attack....!
The entire rise, covered by charging Chinese,
Grey swarms, as far, as the eye could see....!
Wave after wave, the enemy attacked,
By sheer numbers, they'd break their backs.....!
With "Rakkasans"* backs, thrown, against the wall,
Out of ammo, rifles swinging, many did fall....
Others firing their 45's, desperately, trying to stay alive,
Now facing, their annihilation, would any survive....?
Suddenly, support companies were on the scene,
Laying down murderous fire, heard the enemy scream....
Dropping their "burp guns", leaving their wounded and their dead,
Suffered much, as they fled.....
This is how Easter Sunday came to an end,
As "Rakkasans" gathered their injured and dead....
Down the hill, a priest is saying mass,
Survivors joined in, to the last....
After Service, finally, eating hot C's,
Soothing hot coffee, easing many a worry.....
But then came the order, "move it out",
Enough strength left for another bout...?
Heading back towards Munsan-ni,
Hills 519 and 322, entrenched, a hidden enemy....
As the paratroopers, scaled these mountains,
Mortars and machine guns, pounded them....
Over their heads, swish, swish, swish,
The 674th granting,* yet another wish.....
The deadly mortars and guns, now silent,
The sounds of digging, becoming most evident....
At the top of these mountains, boot high snow,
By aerial observation, an entrenched enemy, clearly showed....
The paratroopers attacked, facing strong resistance,
Despite casualty, after casualty, they went the distance....
Finally, after much blood, carnage and death,
The 234th Chinese Regiment, was laid to rest....!
The surviving troopers, now realizing, they had won,
To North Korea, retreating communists, on the run....!
Catching them withdrawing, in an open ravine,
"Rakkasans" machine guns created a gory scene....
Destroying an entire army of North Korean and Chinese,
Total victory was achieved....!
Many of the "Steel Berets", had met their fate,
But quick to reach, Saint Peter's Gates....
As God welcomed these heroes inside,
You could hear him cry....
To you heroes, who did survive,
This horrific battle, just won't subside.....
But be it known, you have earned your place,
Your comrades await, your presence, inside the gates.....
The highest entity, did not forget your war,
As you know, he's been keeping score....
To his angels, he sings your praise,
In his book of the faithful, YOUR NAMES ENGRAVED.....
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:31
The Sapper
Rudyard Kipling
When the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear,
("It's all one", says the Sapper),
The Lord He created the Engineer,
Her Majesty's Royal Engineer,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
When the flood comes along for an extra monsoon,
'Twas Noah constructed the first pontoon,
To the plans of Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
But after fatigue in the wet an' the sun,
Old Noah got drunk, which he wouldn't ha' done,
If he'd trained with Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
When the Tower o' Babel had mixed up men's bat,
Some clever civilian was managing that,
An' none of Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
When the Jews had a fight at the foot of a hill,
Young Joshua ordered the sun to stand still,
For he was a Captain of Engineers,
Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
When the Children of Israel made bricks without straw,
They were learnin' the regular work of our Corps,
The work of Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
For ever since then, if a war they would wage,
Behold us a - shinin' on history's page -
First page for Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
We lay down their sidings an' help 'em entrain,
An' we sweep up their mess through the bloomin' campaign,
In the style of Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
They send us in front with a fuse an' a mine
To blow up the gates that are rushed by the Line,
But bent by Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
They send us behind with a pick an' a spade,
To dig for the guns of a bullock-brigade
Which has asked for Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
We work under escort in trousers and shirt,
An' the heathen they plug us tail-up in the dirt,
Annoying Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
We blast out the rock an' we shovel the mud,
We make 'em good roads an' - they roll down the Khud,
Reporting Her Majesty's Royal Engineers'
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
We make 'em their bridges, their wells an' their huts
An' the telegraph wire the enemy cuts,
An' it's blamed on Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
An' when we return, an' from war we would cease,
They grudge us adornin' the billets of peace,
Which are kept for Her Majesty's Royal Engineers'
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
We build 'em nice barracks - they swear they are bad,
That our Colonels are Methodist, married or mad,
Insultin' Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
They haven't no manners nor gratitude too,
For the more that we help 'em the less they will do,
But mock at Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
Now the Line's but a man with a gun in his hand,
An' Cavalry's only what horses can stand,
When helped by Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
Artillery moves by the leave o' the ground,
But we are the men that do something all round,
For we are Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
I have stated it plain an' my arguments thus
("It's all one", says the Sapper)
There's only one Corps which is perfect - that's us:
An' they call us Her Majesty's Engineers,
Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
A Salute to The Engineers, Rudyard Kipling
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:34
The “A” Team in the Sky
(Written with Love* for the Fallen and Lost Special Forces Soldiers)
by
SGM James “Jack” Carey
USSF (Ret) –* SFA D - 1213 L
The time has come to move again,
****** his orders he has received.
The trip he knew someday he’d make,
****** this last voyage had been perceived.
Many people say that now he’ll pay
****** for ghastly deeds done well.
There’s no doubt there in their minds,
****** he had earned his place in Hell!
But as I look upon him now
****** as he lay in Eternal Sleep.
I don’t see their “Godless” man,
****** I see one mild and meek.
I understand the way they feel
****** cause they only saw his show.
They never did see that man beneath,
****** the one that we did know.
The man who loved his country so
****** he did all jobs with glee.
So all mankind could live and pray
****** from Sea to shining Sea.
His Badge of Courage in its place,
****** his Green Beret upon his head.
He still looks long and lean and mean,
****** still looking so strong, yet dead.
We loved this man for his beliefs,
****** not the deeds that they recall.
We know he stood for liberty,
****** and for freedom for us all.
Religion?* Some say he had none!
****** That money was his only token.
But I was there when you two would speak,
****** though Your name was never spoken.
Your House on earth he would not enter,
His presence might bring You dishonor.
So he would meet with You each day,
****** In a bar or some very dark corner.
I know You told him how to act,
****** and play this big charade.
So just his name would bring them fear
****** in life’s continuing parade.
They never saw him, head held low
****** as he gave You his report.
With heavy heart and tearful eyes
****** he’d wait for you to sort!
The deeds he had accomplished,
****** in his eyes some right, some astray.
He hoped that You approved of all
****** and blessed them in some way.
With shaking hands and worried look
****** with sweat upon his brow,
He’d stare off somewhere into space
****** and then his head, he’d bow.
He’d hear no worldly words right now,
****** you were giving him direction.
Your critique received, his grade well earned,
****** he would then stand at attention.
He’d tell me that You spoke with him
****** and that we had to hurry.
He told me that you approved it all,
****** there was no need to worry.
No longer humble, meek, and broken
****** for those things they claimed he’d done.
The things they said done with such malice
****** had been approved by “The Right One”.
Prepared to leave, he would down that drink,
****** the one he had bought for show.
For all those present in that bar,
****** For he knew they must never know.
His walk again would show them all
****** that he truly was “The Master”.
That he was not only lean and mean
****** but his heart was made of plaster.
But Lord, I think that we both know
****** his heart had not been hollowed.
Had he shown the slightest fear or doubt,
****** his men would not have followed.
Had others known the things we do
****** about his mission on this earth.
Never would they have been accomplished,
****** his work would have had no worth.
Now Lord, You’ve come to take him home,
****** to have him by Your crown.
To have him help You as You guide
****** those left here “on the ground”.
Now it’s our turn to carry the load
****** as we sadly say Goodbye,
To a faithful friend, who now proudly stands
****** With The “A” Team in the SKY.
*
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:38
"It is the soldier, not the reporter, Who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet, Who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, Who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, Who salutes the flag, Who serves beneath the flag, And whose coffin is draped by the flag, Who allows the protestor to burn the flag."
Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye.
Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a
piece of shrapnel in the leg - or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's alloy forged in the refinery of adversity.
Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem.
You can't tell a vet just by looking.
What is a vet?
He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket - palsied now and
aggravatingly slow - who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.
He is the Drill Instructor who has never seen combat - but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Soldiers, Airman, Sailors and Marines, and teaching them to watch each other's backs.
He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.
He is the POW who went away one person and came back another - or didn't
come back AT ALL.
He is the "parade-riding" Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.
She - or he - is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.
He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.
He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.
He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel.
He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being - a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.
He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.
So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say "Thank You".
That's all most of them need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been or were awarded.
November 11th is Veterans Day!
Now you know !!
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:42
Vanguards of Freedom
(The Green Berets)
"De Oppresso Liber!"
Crossed arrows...green beret
Dick Meadows..."Nick" Rowe...Bull Simons...Sontay!
Warrior's blade..."The Quiet Professionals"...liberty!
The Grey Ghost...Swamp Fox...awesome legacy!
Vanguards of Freedom...stalking horse of night
Special Forces soldiers...fight oppression's fight.
SOG...sacred trust...following God and Creed,
"If I'm the last...surrender Hell!" A very special breed.
These silent heroes answer...wherever freedom calls
For God, John Wayne, Uncle Sam...first in war to fall.
Korea...Southeast Asia...Iraq...Afghanistan.
Stealthy, unseen shadows...this mighty warrior band!
Fearless of "The Last Patrol"...set apart...honor bound.
God speed! to a dying brother...sad songs...of an old blue hound.
A brave heart...slain in battle..."Hey Blue" sings of his worth,
As lightning from Valhalla...guides a warrior soul from Earth!
C. 2002
Marsha Burks Megehee
In memory of
U.S.A. Special Forces
Capt. Humberto "Rocky" Versace
West Point - MOH
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:45
Halfway down the Trail to Hell
In a shady meadow green,
Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen,
And this eternal resting place
is known as Fiddlers' Green.
Marching past, straight through to Hell,
The Infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen.
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:48
"A Green Beret"
After the insecurity of The Second Childhood and during The Maturity Of Man we find the "Green Beret".
"Green Berets" Are found everywhere, In Bars, Behind Bars, Looking Through Police Bars, In Trouble, In Debt, In the Air, On Leave, And in Love.
"Green Berets" Come In Assorted Colors, Sizes, Weights, And States of Sobriety, Misery and Confusion.
Sweethearts Love Them, Mothers Worry About Them, The US Supports Them And Somehow They Manage To Get Along With Each Other. A "Green Beret" Is A Composite With A Weapon, Sly As A Fox, Has The Energy Of A Bull, The Brains Of An Idiot, The Sincerity Of A Priest, The Appetite Of An Elephant, Stories Of Heroes And The Love Of God.
A "Green Beret" is Laziness With A Drink In His Hand, A Millionaire Without A Cent, Bravery With A Grin, The Protector Of America With The Latest Copy Of Playboy Magazine In His Possession At All Times. When He Wants Something It Is Usually A Letter From His Sweetheart, A Three Day Pass, Special Duty, A Jump Or A Little Love.
He Dislikes Answering Letters, His Commanding Officer, Getting Up For Reville, Army Chow, Air Force Reserve Pilots, The Week before Payday, Second Lieutenants, Non-Airborne Personnel And Comments About His 'Beret".
He Loves His Sweetheart, His Mother And His Uniform.........No One Can Say So Little And Wrte So Seldom, Yet Think Of You So Often. No One Can Get So Much Fulfillment Out Of Your Letters, Love, A Song Or A Little Child.
A "Green Beret" Is A Strange Magical Creature......You Can Lock Him Out Of Your House, But Not From Your Heart. You Can Take Him Off Your Mailing List, But Not Out Of Your Mind.
Author Unknown
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:51
TOMMY
I went into a public 'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats 'ere."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I,
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away;"
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play.
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play.
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me.
They sent me to the gallery or round the music 'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! They'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside;"
But it's "Special train for Atkins " when the troopship's on the tide.
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide.
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the troopship's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap.
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll.
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes," when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you.
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints.
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind;"
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir" when there's trouble in the wind.
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind.
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir" when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools an' fires, an' all;
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face.
The widow's uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot.
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
Trip_Wire (RIP)
03-25-2008, 22:58
Sorry Guy's as an old retired COP, I had to slip this one in. ... Besides most of it fits QPs as well.
When God Made Police Officers...
When the Lord was creating police officers, he was into his sixth day of overtime when an Angel appeared and said, "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this human model Lord."..."You look tired and frustrated".."Its only a police officer"..
And the Lord said, "Have you read the spec on this human, police model order?
A police officer has to be able to run miles through alleys in the dark. Scale walls, enter homes the health inspector wouldn't touch, fight with super human-stoned-on-drugs suspects and not wrinkle the uniform."
"A cop has to be able to sit in an undercover car all day on a stakeout, cover a bloody homicide scene that night, work with narcotics suspects, canvass the neighborhood for witnesses and testify in court the next day. after 3 hours sleep."
He has to be in top physical condition at all times, running on black coffee and half-eaten, fast-food meals.
And he has to have six pairs of hands."
The Angel shook her head slowly and said "Six pairs of hands...".." no way."
"Ummm, its not the hands that are causing me problems." Said the Lord, "its the three pairs of eyes a police officer has to have."
"That's quite a model human Lord?", said the Angel. The Lord nodded. "One pair that sees through a bulge in a pocket before he asks, "May I see what's in there, Sir?" "And finds a gun hidden away before he is killed"...
(When he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting job when he graduated from college.)
Another pair here in the side of his head for his partner's safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, "You'll be all right ma'am, when he knows it isn't so."
"Lord." said the Angel, touching his sleeve,
"Rest and work on this tomorrow.".."its too tough"..
"I can't."said the Lord, "I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk into a patrol car without incident and it can feed a family of five on a civil service paycheck." The Angel circled the model of the police officer very slowly, looking at the fine details the Lord was including. The model looked strong, smart, even dedicated.
"Can it think?" she asked."..."You bet" said the Lord, "My police officer model can tell you the elements in a hundred crimes; recite Miranda warnings to remain silent;; investigate, search and arrest a gang member on the street in FAR less time that it takes five learned judges to debate the legality of the vehicle stop/search that my new cop will make"..."And it still keeps it's sense of humor."..
"This police officer I'm making also has phenomenal personal control"..." He can deal with crime scenes painted by Hell, coax a confession from a child abuser, not hurt a criminal by using his brains and mouth, comfort a murder victim's family, and then read in the daily News how law enforcement isn't sensitive to the rights of criminal suspects."
Finally, the Angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the model Police Officer God had made and said,. "There's a leak Lord."she pronounced... "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model, trying too hard."
"That's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."..
"What's the tear for?" asked the Angel....
The Lord said, "It's for bottled up emotions, for fallen comrades, for commitment to the gold badge the officer wears and for that piece of red, white and blue cloth called the American Flag, a flag for global justice."
"You're a genius Lord", said the Angel. "Even the tears too"...
The Lord looked somber. "I didn't put the tears there." he said, "They just appeared on their own, actually just a few minutes ago".."It must be a premonition of times to come"...? "Even I don't know how to control that"...!
...Author Unknown...
JoeEcho45
03-26-2008, 09:54
I believe Louis Awerbuck is the author, at least that is who is credited with the article where I saw this.
This is by Louis Awerbuck.
Pay attention young man
And I'll tell you the ode
Of the battle weary soldier
And the Pale Horse that he rode
And when it's all over,
When the telling is done
Maybe you'll understand,
That killing isn't fun
Yes, you do the job
And you have to win
But there are none who do battle
And return home without sin
He engaged the enemy
And fired with pride
But when he's alone at night
There's nowhere to hide
Tossing and turning
Between the bedposts
His only companions
The bullet riddled ghosts
When he was young
Hale and hearty
Life was a game
Just an endless party
Then the years rolled by
On golden wings
Whatever happened
To the innocent things?
Heed these words, young man
While your guns are still cool
Or you'll die in despair
A lonely old fool
Listen to the advice
Of parents too soon long dead
They had all the right answers
To the puzzles in your young head
Then the bell tolled
To ship out to war
And even though he was well trained
He hadn't a clue what was in store
In boot camp they told him
To go by the book
Then the bullets started flying
And he got his first true look
Gone was the young man
So full of dash and dare
When incoming rounds
Started puncturing the air
He put on the face
Of a soldier so brave
A terrified young man
Barely old enough to shave
But somehow he made it
Through the fight and the day
He had killed his first man
Now the Piper he must pay
While those who surrounded him
Looked like they showed grief
Every one of them to a man
Was filled with relief
For it wasn't the battle
That stilled their young laughter
It was his anguish they witnessed
In the scene that came after
It was him or the enemy
So he shot first
Riddling the man's torso
With a machinegun burst
He fell to the ground
With a look of surprise
The light quickly fading
From the dying soldiers eyes
Approaching him slowly
As if in a dream
He knelt down beside him
Stifling a silent scream
He removed the helmet
To see the enemy's face
Seeing only a youth like himself
Gone on to a better place
In all the noise of battle
He couldn't hear a sound
When the photo fell out
And drifted to the ground
Beautiful she was
And laden with child
Enough to break his silence
With a primal scream so wild
He never laughed again
After that tormented day
Gone was his adolescence
Of wine, women, and play
Now he's become a man
Setting out on life's bloody path
That nothing could wash clean
No shower, no bath
So pay attention young man
Don't get to enjoy killing too much
Don't romanticize old men's stories
Of forgotten wars and blood and such
Don't look forward
To the first notch on your gun
Take it from one who's been there
And whose last ride is nearly done
You're still young and happy
With a chance for many years
All he has left are the ghosts
And empty nights filled with dry tears
I told you it was an ode
So open your ears while you can
It's about an old Pale Horseman
And I was that young man.
jillyz12
04-06-2009, 05:46
This is your/our opportunity to get it off your chest or help a brother or just plain show some respect. Awaiting your thoughts.
I searched this thread and didn't find this particular prayer, but it put a knot in my chest...it's beautiful. I can't believe no one has added to this forum in such a long time. Is there a statute of limitations on praying, gentlemen? ;)
Anyway, I hope you all can take something from it. God bless you always.
Lacy Veach was my friend and roommate in a tiny trailer on skids parked among lots of trailers on the beach of the South China Sea at Tuy Hoa Airbase, South Vietnam, in 1968-69. He died October 3, 1995, when cancer attacked his brilliant mind. Lacy did it all in his short life. He was a USAF Academy graduate, F-100 pilot, Misty FAC (the bravest of the brave), F-105 Wild Weasel pilot (just as brave), solo pilot with the USAF Thunderbirds, astronaut, husband, father and born again child of God. I flew top cover for his rescue when he was shot down over the Ho Chi Minh trail in Laos. On October 22, 1992 I watched him blast into space aboard the Columbia (STS 52) on a clear Florida day from my backyard in Tampa. His voice coming over my TV as he rode that rocket into the wild blue was a couple octaves lower than it was the day he hung from his parachute atop a tall tree in Laos, calling for help. If Lacy knew the Lord back then he kept it a secret from me (he probably thought the same about my faith), but his dying prayer below removes all doubt in my mind. Every fighter pilot considers himself the world’s greatest fighter pilot, but I’ll confess now, 35 years later, that Lacy was a better “stick” than I. A few weeks before he succumbed to cancer he wrote the following prayer with the help of Kathleen Golgin, Ph.D. At his request, his space shuttle commander and good friend, Astronaut Mike Coats, read it at his funeral. His ashes were dropped from a plane over his home state of Hawaii.
My friend for eternity, Lacy Veach, speaks for me from heaven this Veterans Day, 2004.
May God continue to have mercy on America,
JD Wetterling
The Warrior’s Prayer
Lord, I am a warrior...
My education began early in life. I studied the ancient civilizations and learned of modern politics. Mankind’s history, I discovered, swelled and ebbed with the seemingly perpetual tides of war. Military campaigns and strategies, past and present, were made familiar to me, as were expert soldiers who fought for justice and those who did not.
From the passionately fierce and ruthless Attila, who assailed and subdued the Roman Empire, I remembered a shameless declaration which, nevertheless captured his fighting spirit’s uncompromising singularity of purpose:
“Nothing brings greater joy to my heart,” Attila cried, “than to murder
my enemies and pillage his flocks and fields.”
Here for all time was the clear and unromanticized reality of war.
From Scottish warrior Robert Bruce, who freed Scotland from English rule, emerged, for me, one of the justifications for taking up arms. Declared Bruce:
“We fight not for honor, nor glory, nor for wealth. But only and alone
we fight for freedom, which no good man surrenders but with his life.”
To fight in the defense of freedom, in the defense of justice, in defense of eternal principals of morality transcendentally ordained. To fight against oppression and wickedness. To fight what Milton would call, “The Adversary of God and Man.” For these reasons I am a warrior, Lord.
It was to establish justice and forge freedom that I was once locked in a battle to survive, to survive in a sky thundering with gunfire and clouded by the smoke of exploding rockets. Lord, in those moments, I knew what it was to implore Your protection...to be shielded by Your mercy.
I am an old warrior now, Lord, and, as the saying goes, perhaps “a wiser one.” And, I now know of a war waged between Time and Eternity. A war, which if lost makes empty the victory of all others. A war which, if finally fought and won, would make all other wars unnecessary, indeed, impossible.
In this siege I need no spears or scimitars, no ballistics or gunners.
I NEED ONLY THE LIGHT OF YOUR LOVE
I NEED ONLY THE SPLENDOR OF YOUR WISDOM
I NEED ONLY THE GUIDANCE OF YOUR WORD
In this war, the strategy is as simple as it is profound. For this is a Crusade of the Soul. And in this Crusade, the battle cry is clear:
“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy
soul, and with all Thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And
the second is like unto it; Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. Upon
these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”
Let my warrior’s life begin with this end. Lord, I pray when You crack the sky, that You will find me...find me faithful.
I AM A WARRIOR, LORD.
NO...I AM YOUR WARRIOR, LORD.
Lacy Veech
From Shakespeare's Henry V
Henry is addressing his soldiers after the battle of Agincourt
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
Utah Bob
04-10-2009, 10:43
I wrote this a while back.
The Men on Your Left and Right
It really don't matter what side you're on, Son"
The Sergeant says to me.
I listened real close for I was a lad
Not yet quite twenty-three
"You were sent by your Country, or God or King
It's a soldier's lot to die
So I'll tell you what you're fightin for"
And he looks me in the eye
"For freedom", says I. "That's probably it!"
"Or maybe to save mankind!"
"Or to keep the world all safe and sane
And make sure it don't unwind"
"For your Family and Home and your Flag so dear!"
I knew I had it at last!
Then I heard the shells scream overhead
And the trench shook from the blast.
The Sergeant's eyes they held me still
My own stayed open wide.
With a click, he fixed his bayonet
His head shook side to side.
"No Lad", he said. "That's just not it.
That's what them civilians think.
A soldier's thoughts are simpler still",
And he gives me a quick sad wink.
"A soldier's got no time to think
of such grand things ya see.
No King or Queen in this here trench.
Just the Lads, and you, and me"
"You fight for the men on your left and right.
It's just as simple as that.
Now straighten your kit, tighten your belt
And don't forget your tin hat."
"If you're still alive tomorrow" he says
You'll long remember this day.
You'll remember the men on your left and right
When you hear the pipers play"
"So on your feet Lad, It's just about time
Wipe that mud off your pistol sight.
We're in for it now, so let’s give 'em Hell
We may be there ourselves tonight!"
He smiled at me then and chuckled no doubt
At my brief patriotic vent
Then the flare gun went off, and I blew my whistle
And over the top we went.
Surf n Turf
04-11-2009, 20:17
The Ballad of the King's Mercy
ABDHUR RAHMAN, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told.
His mercy fills the Khyber hills -- his grace is manifold;
He has taken toll of the North and the South -- his glory reacheth far,
And they tell the tale of his charity from Balkh to Kandahar.
Before the old Peshawur Gate, where Kurd and Kaffir meet,
The Governor of Kabul dealt the Justice of the Street,
And that was strait as running noose and swift as plunging knife,
Tho' he who held the longer purse might hold the longer life.
There was a hound of Hindustan had struck a Yusufzai,
Wherefore they spat upon his face and led him out to die.
It chanced the King went forth that hour when throat was bared to knife;
The Kafir grovelled under-hoof and clamoured for his life.
Then said the King: "Have hope, O friend! Yea, Death disgraced is hard;
Much honour shall be thine"; and called the Captain of the Guard,
Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-babble saith,
And he was honoured of the King -- the which is salt to Death;
And he was son of Daoud Shah, the Reiver of the Plains,
And blood of old Durani Lords ran fire in his veins;
And 'twas to tame an Afghan pride nor Hell nor Heaven could bind,
The King would make him butcher to a yelping cur of Hind.
"Strike!" said the King. "King's blood art thou --
his death shall be his pride!"
Then louder, that the crowd might catch: "Fear not -- his arms are tied!"
Yar Khan drew clear the Khyber knife, and struck, and sheathed again.
"O man, thy will is done," quoth he; "a King this dog hath slain."
Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, to the North and the South is sold.
The North and the South shall open their mouth to a Ghilzai flag unrolled,
When the big guns speak to the Khyber peak, and his dog-Heratis fly:
Ye have heard the song -- How long? How long? Wolves of the Abazai!
That night before the watch was set, when all the streets were clear,
The Governor of Kabul spoke: "My King, hast thou no fear?
Thou knowest -- thou hast heard," -- his speech died at his master's face.
And grimly said the Afghan King: "I rule the Afghan race.
My path is mine -- see thou to thine. To-night upon thy bed
Think who there be in Kabul now that clamour for thy head."
That night when all the gates were shut to City and to throne,
Within a little garden-house the King lay down alone.
Before the sinking of the moon, which is the Night of Night,
Yar Khan came softly to the King to make his honour white.
(The children of the town had mocked beneath his horse's hoofs,
The harlots of the town had hailed him "butcher!" from their roofs.)
But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him fell,
The King behind his shoulder spake: "Dead man, thou dost not well!
'Tis ill to jest with Kings by day and seek a boon by night;
And that thou bearest in thy hand is all too sharp to write.
But three days hence, if God be good, and if thy strength remain,
Thou shalt demand one boon of me and bless me in thy pain.
For I am merciful to all, and most of all to thee.
My butcher of the shambles, rest -- no knife hast thou for me!"
Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, holds hard by the South and the North;
But the Ghilzai knows, ere the melting snows, when the swollen banks break forth,
When the red-coats crawl to the sungar wall, and his Usbeg lances fail:
Ye have heard the song -- How long? How long? Wolves of the Zukka Kheyl!
They stoned him in the rubbish-field when dawn was in the sky,
According to the written word, "See that he do not die."
They stoned him till the stones were piled above him on the plain,
And those the labouring limbs displaced they tumbled back again.
One watched beside the dreary mound that veiled the battered thing,
And him the King with laughter called the Herald of the King.
It was upon the second night, the night of Ramazan,
The watcher leaning earthward heard the message of Yar Khan.
From shattered breast through shrivelled lips broke forth the rattling breath,
"Creature of God, deliver me from agony of Death."
They sought the King among his girls, and risked their lives thereby:
"Protector of the Pitiful, give orders that he die!"
"Bid him endure until the day," a lagging answer came;
"The night is short, and he can pray and learn to bless my name."
Before the dawn three times he spoke, and on the day once more:
"Creature of God, deliver me, and bless the King therefor!"
They shot him at the morning prayer, to ease him of his pain,
And when he heard the matchlocks clink, he blessed the King again.
Which thing the singers made a song for all the world to sing,
So that the Outer Seas may know the mercy of the King.
Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told,
He has opened his mouth to the North and the South, they have stuffed his mouth with gold.
Ye know the truth of his tender ruth -- and sweet his favours are:
Ye have heard the song -- How long? How long? from Balkh to Kandahar.
frostfire
11-09-2009, 18:03
La prière du para
Donnez-moi, mon Dieu, ce qui vous reste
Donnez-moi ce qu'on ne vous demande jamais.
Je ne vous demande pas le repos
Ni la tranquillité
Ni celle de l'âme, ni celle du corps.
Je ne vous demande pas la richesse
Ni le succès, ni même la santé.
Tout ça, mon Dieu, on vous le demande tellement
Que vous ne devez plus en avoir.
Donnez-moi, mon Dieu, ce qui vous reste
Donnez-moi ce que l'on vous refuse.
Je veux l'insécurité et l'inquiétude.
Je veux la tourmente et la bagarre
Et que vous me les donniez, mon Dieu, définitivement.
Que je sois sûr de les avoir toujours
Car je n'aurai pas toujours le courage
De vous les demander.
Donnez-moi, mon Dieu, ce qui vous reste.
Donnez-moi ce dont les autres ne veulent pas.
Mais donnez-moi aussi le courage
Et la force et la foi.
Car vous seul donnez, mon Dieu,
Ce que l'on ne peut attendre que de soi.
Aspirant André Zirnheld
Français libre, SAS
7 March 1913 -- 27 July 1942
A college philosopy professor before the war, his last words were "I'll leave. Everything is in order within me. "
(Poem adaptation)
I bring this prayer to You, Lord,
For you alone can give
What one cannot demand from oneself.
Give me, Lord, what You have left over,
Give me what no one ever asks of You.
I don’t ask You for rest,
Or quiet,
Whether of soul or body;
I don’t ask You for wealth,
Nor for success, nor even health perhaps.
That sort of thing You get asked for so much
That You can’t have any of it left.
Give me, Lord, what You have left over,
Give me what no one wants from You.
I want uncertainty and doubt.
I want torment and battle.
And I want You to give me these
Once and for all.
So that I can be sure of having them always,
Since I shall not always have the courage
To ask You for them.
Give me, Lord, what You have left over,
Give me what others want nothing to do with.
But give me courage, too,
And strength and faith;
For You alone can give
What one cannot demand from oneself.
Build Me a Son
General Douglas A. MacArthur
Build me a son, O Lord,
who will be strong enough to know when he is weak,
and brave enough to face him self when he is afraid;
one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat,
and humble and gentle in victory.
Build me a son whose wishbone will not be
where his backbone should be;
a son who will know Thee- and that
to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge.
Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort,
but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge.
Here, let him learn to stand up in the storm;
here, let him team compassion for those who fall.
Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goals will be high;
a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men;
one who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep;
one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.
And after all these things are his,
add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor,
so that he may always be serious,
yet never take himself too seriously.
Give him humility, so that he may always remember
the simplicity of true greatness,
the open mind of true wisdom,
the meekness of true strength.
Then I, his father, will dare to whisper,
"I have not lived in vain."
MacArthur wrote this during his darkest hours while serving in the Philippines, prior to the exfil. He wrote it as a hopeful prayer for his son who was entering West Point.
I beleive it was not made public until after his death.
Ender_Wiggin
11-11-2009, 22:04
Lord, protect me always, for I am your faithful servant in the endless battle of good versus evil. Guide my sword (heart) and strengthen my shield (spirit) so that I may serve thee (you).
Recited this at the start of a shift when I was a police officer.
Thank you Veterans!
Know to some as: "Go to your god like a soldier"
The Young British Soldier
Rudyard Kipling
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier OF the Queen!
Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
A' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .
When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old *****;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .
When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .
If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier of the Queen!
Bivouac of the Dead
By Theodore O'Hara
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents to spread,
And glory guards, with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dreams alarms;
No braying horn or screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shriveled swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed,
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout, are past;
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the fierce Northern hurricane
That sweeps the great plateau,
Flushed with triumph, yet to gain,
Come down the serried foe,
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew the watchword of the day
Was "Victory or death!"
Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the glory tide;
Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew,
craigepo
01-14-2010, 11:31
I know it's not Memorial Day, but I recited the following Order in a Memorial Day's speech I gave a couple of years ago. I had to rehearse just reading the order a couple of times to be able to give the speech with dry eyes. Also, I am still amazed at how articulate our previous generations were.
The following is the actual military order, issued by the Commander of the United States Army, that instituted what we now call Memorial Day. The author, General John Logan, fought at the Battle of Bull Run. He commanded an infantry regiment in a battle wherein he lost 303 of his 606 troops and was himself wounded twice. He was a division commander at the battle of Vicksburg, and commanded the Army of Tennessee at the Battle of Atlanta. I believe you will find General Logan’s feelings and words as fitting today as they were the day he penned them.
"General Order Number 11
Headquarters, Grand Army of the Republic
Washington, D.C.
May 5, 1868
1. The 30th day of May, 1868, is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land. In this observance no form or ceremony is prescribed, but posts and comrades will in their own way arrange such fitting services and testimonials of respect as circumstances may permit.
We are organized, comrades, as our regulations tell us, for the purpose, among other things, of preserving and strengthening those kind and fraternal feelings which have bound together the soldiers, sailors, and marines who united to suppress the late rebellion. What can aid more to assure this result than by cherishing tenderly the memory of our heroic dead, who made their breasts a barricade between our country and its foe? Their soldier lives were the reveille of freedom to a race in chains, and their death a tattoo of rebellious tyranny in arms.
We should guard their graves with sacred vigilance. All that the consecrated wealth and taste of the Nation can add to their adornment and security is but a fitting tribute to the memory of her slain defenders. Let no wanton foot tread rudely on such hallowed grounds. Let pleasant paths invite the coming and going of reverent visitors and fond mourners. Let no vandalism of avarice or neglect, no ravages of time, testify to the present or to the coming generations that we have forgotten, as a people, the cost of free and undivided republic.
If other eyes grow dull and other hands slack, and other hearts cold in the solemn trust, ours shall keep it well as long as the light and warmth of life remain in us.
Let us, then, at the time appointed, gather around their sacred remains and garland the passionless mounds above them with choicest flowers of springtime; let us raise above them the dear old flag they saved from dishonor; let us in this solemn presence renew our pledges to aid and assist those whom they have left among us as sacred charges upon the Nation’s gratitude,--the soldier’s and sailor’s widow and orphan.
2. It is the purpose of the Commander in Chief to inaugurate this observance with the hope it will be kept up from year to year, while a survivor of the war remains to honor the memory of his departed comrades. He earnestly desires the public press to call attention to this Order, and lend its friendly aid in bringing it to the notice of comrades in all parts of the country in time for simultaneous compliance therewith.
3. Department commanders will use every effort to make this order effective.
John A. Logan
General
Commander in Chief"
"When a Warrior fights, not for himself, but for his brothers,
when his most passionately sought goal is neither his own
life's preservation, but to spend his substance for them,
his comrades, not to abandon them, not to prove unworthy
of them, then his heart truly has achieved contempt for death,
and with that he transcends himself and his actions touch
the sublime."