Go Back   Professional Soldiers ® > Special Forces > Base Camp

Reply
 
Thread Tools Display Modes
Old 03-26-2008, 09:54   #61
JoeEcho45
Quiet Professional
 
Join Date: Jan 2008
Location: Southeastern Georgia
Posts: 34
An Ode

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.
JoeEcho45 is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 04-06-2009, 05:46   #62
jillyz12
Asset
 
Join Date: Aug 2008
Location: Illinois
Posts: 23
Quote:
Originally Posted by Q View Post
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
jillyz12 is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 04-09-2009, 22:40   #63
nemo547
Asset
 
Join Date: Feb 2009
Location: mill spring nc
Posts: 0
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.
nemo547 is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 04-10-2009, 10:43   #64
Utah Bob
Quiet Professional
 
Utah Bob's Avatar
 
Join Date: Mar 2009
Location: 11 miles from Dove Creek, Colorady
Posts: 3,924
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.
__________________
"...But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive."
Shakespeare - Henry V
Lazy Bob Ranch
Utah Bob is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 04-11-2009, 20:17   #65
Surf n Turf
Guerrilla Chief
 
Surf n Turf's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jan 2005
Location: In the Woods
Posts: 882
Afghanistan 1889, Rudyard Kipling

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.
__________________
Die Gedanken sind frei

Democrats would burn down this country as long as they get to rule over the ashes

The FBI’s credibility was murdered by a sniper on Ruby Ridge; its corpse was burned to ashes outside Waco; soiled in a Delaware PC repair shop;. and buried in the basement of Mar-a-Lago..
Surf n Turf is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 11-09-2009, 18:03   #66
frostfire
Area Commander
 
frostfire's Avatar
 
Join Date: Nov 2004
Location: Lone Star
Posts: 2,153
origin of the commando prayer

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.
__________________
"we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope" Rom. 5:3-4

"So we can suffer, and in suffering we know who we are" David Goggins

"Aide-toi, Dieu t'aidera " Jehanne, la Pucelle

Der, der Geld verliert, verliert einiges;
Der, der einen Freund verliert, verliert viel mehr;
Der, der das Vertrauen verliert, verliert alles.

INDNJC
frostfire is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 11-11-2009, 15:52   #67
wet dog
Guest
 
Posts: n/a
Quote:
Originally Posted by Polar Bear View Post
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.
  Reply With Quote
Old 11-11-2009, 22:04   #68
Ender_Wiggin
Asset
 
Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: Santa Fe, NM
Posts: 0
My warriors prayer

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!
__________________
Bellum Omnium Contra Omnes. - Thomas Hobbes

Last edited by Ender_Wiggin; 11-12-2009 at 13:22.
Ender_Wiggin is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 11-13-2009, 06:56   #69
JAGO
"The Quiet Counsel"
 
Join Date: Jul 2009
Location: FL
Posts: 182
My favorite by Kipling - so relevant today

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!
JAGO is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 01-12-2010, 01:12   #70
Macduff
Asset
 
Join Date: Feb 2008
Location: Kentucky
Posts: 4
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,
Macduff is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 01-14-2010, 11:31   #71
craigepo
Quiet Professional
 
craigepo's Avatar
 
Join Date: Dec 2008
Location: Southern Mo
Posts: 1,541
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"
craigepo is offline   Reply With Quote
Old 02-01-2010, 13:36   #72
JMonty
Asset
 
Join Date: Jan 2010
Location: Texas
Posts: 15
Excerpt from 'Gates of Fire', a book about the 300 at Thermopylae

"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."
__________________
"I say to you now only what I would say to my own men, knowing the fear that stands unspoken in each heart - not of death, but worse, of faltering or failing, of somehow proving unworthy in this, the ultimate hour. Forget every concept, however noble, that you imagine you fight for here today. Act for this alone: for the man who stands at your shoulder." -Dienekes 'Gates of Fire'
JMonty is offline   Reply With Quote
Reply


Currently Active Users Viewing This Thread: 1 (0 members and 1 guests)
 
Thread Tools
Display Modes

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off

Forum Jump



All times are GMT -6. The time now is 22:51.



Copyright 2004-2022 by Professional Soldiers ®
Site Designed, Maintained, & Hosted by Hilliker Technologies