2024 Caboodle National Books Puzzle
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We Will Remember Them
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Thanks again this year Lonnie (you posted similar rememberances last year) where has time flown.? Again, this year, let me offer:
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flander's 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.
It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915.
Again, thanks Lonnie ... and
Heyeh asher tihyeh
Veheyeh barukh
Ba�asher tihyeh
(Be who you are
And may you be blessed
In all that you are) Shalom....
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flander's 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.
It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915.
Again, thanks Lonnie ... and
Heyeh asher tihyeh
Veheyeh barukh
Ba�asher tihyeh
(Be who you are
And may you be blessed
In all that you are) Shalom....
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
It seems to me as that last year as well, jake you posted something similar. I understand and sympathize with those who find no glory in war... but thank God that there are those valiant men and women in each generation that, while finding no glory, are still willing to take up arms and defend ones country, with all that includes. It would certainly be better if no one ever had to do that, but faced with the alternatives, so it has always been. We can, together, hope that a generation soon to come, will not have to do so, but until such time, I will gladly remember those who did... and paid the ultimate price.
Really?
My great Uncle was called up and sent abroad to fight
He knew nothing of Germany or the Kaiser
He was killed with all the others and they even spelt his name wrong on the war memorial.
Now the descendants of the politicians who sent him to fight are going to hold a solem service and pretend that his sacrifice was worthwhile
They will repeat as Owen says the great lie
"It is sweet and honorable to die for ones country."
I doubt he'd agree
My great Uncle was called up and sent abroad to fight
He knew nothing of Germany or the Kaiser
He was killed with all the others and they even spelt his name wrong on the war memorial.
Now the descendants of the politicians who sent him to fight are going to hold a solem service and pretend that his sacrifice was worthwhile
They will repeat as Owen says the great lie
"It is sweet and honorable to die for ones country."
I doubt he'd agree
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 a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, 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 day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our 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 that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
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 a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, 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 day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our 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 that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Thankyou all for such wonderful replies, and poems,
skyep,
Give the site a bit of time to be updated, I put my Grandfathers name on. it was there the next day.
4GS,
John, certainly brings back memories when you see the name of a relation or friend, gives pause for thought.
Clanad,
Thats a magnificent poem, and a wonderful rider, thankyou.
And as a personel tribute to our American friends, it should never be forgotten that the war wouldn't have been won without you, as also the second.
jake,
Your poem is the true face of war, be that it wasn't, and isn't necessry, but it was, and is.
Reverand,
'Thanks to these men that we live the life we do'
Very very true, a great pity its not taught in schools anymore.
Cruella,
Its the least I could do,
Bless to both you and your husband.
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A personal story,
My paternal Grandfather, came to England in 1910 to escape the persecutions in Romania, he enlisted, according to my father, to help the country that gave him shelter, (a proud man) he lost his life in 1918.
As an aside, more British soldiers lost their lives in 1918, than in the whole of the second war.
Bears thinkink about.
skyep,
Give the site a bit of time to be updated, I put my Grandfathers name on. it was there the next day.
4GS,
John, certainly brings back memories when you see the name of a relation or friend, gives pause for thought.
Clanad,
Thats a magnificent poem, and a wonderful rider, thankyou.
And as a personel tribute to our American friends, it should never be forgotten that the war wouldn't have been won without you, as also the second.
jake,
Your poem is the true face of war, be that it wasn't, and isn't necessry, but it was, and is.
Reverand,
'Thanks to these men that we live the life we do'
Very very true, a great pity its not taught in schools anymore.
Cruella,
Its the least I could do,
Bless to both you and your husband.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
A personal story,
My paternal Grandfather, came to England in 1910 to escape the persecutions in Romania, he enlisted, according to my father, to help the country that gave him shelter, (a proud man) he lost his life in 1918.
As an aside, more British soldiers lost their lives in 1918, than in the whole of the second war.
Bears thinkink about.
Thats very true naomi,
those very sentiments I believe, should be taught in all schools, mandatory.
shanx,
Thats wonderful, I where I live, a small town, its hard to find someone not wearing a Poppy, and its not an uncommon site at this time, to see a parents with their small children talking to the Poppy sellers.
those very sentiments I believe, should be taught in all schools, mandatory.
shanx,
Thats wonderful, I where I live, a small town, its hard to find someone not wearing a Poppy, and its not an uncommon site at this time, to see a parents with their small children talking to the Poppy sellers.
