A cheer and salute for the Admiral, and here's to the Captain bold,
And never forget the Commodore's debt when the deeds of might are told! They stand to the deck through the battle's wreck when the great shells roar and screech And never they fear when the foe is near to practise what they preach: But off with your hat and three times three for Columbia's true-blue sons, The men below who batter the foe-the men behind the guns! II Oh, light and mercy of heart are they when they swing into port once more, When, with more than enough of the "green-back stuff," they start for their leave-o'-shore; And you'd think, perhaps, that the blue-bloused chaps who loll along the street Are a tender bit, with salt on it, for some fierce "mustache" to eat- Some warrior bold, with straps of gold, who dazzles and fairly stuns The modest worth of the sailor boys-the lads who serve the guns. III But say not a word till the shot is heard that tells the fight is on, Till the long, deep roar grows more and more from the ships of "Yank" and "Don," Till over the deep and tempest's sweep of fire and bursting shell, And the very air is mad Despair in the throes of a living hell; Then down, deep down, in the mighty ship, unseen by the midday suns, You'll find the chaps who are giving the raps-the men behind the guns! IV Oh, well they know how the cyclones blow that they loose from their cloud of death, And they know is heard the thunder-word their fierce ten-incher saith! The steel decks rock with the lightning shock, and shake with the great recoil, And the sea grows red with the blood of the dead and reaches for his spoil- But not till the foe has gone belowor turns his prow and runs, Shall the voice of peace bring sweet release to the men behind the guns! -John Jerome Rooney
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Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead.
The fight that ye so bravely led We've taken up. And we will keep True faith with you who lie asleep With each a cross to mark his bed, In Flanders fields. Fear not that ye have died for naught. The torch ye threw to us we caught. Ten million hands will hold it high, And Freedom's light shall never die? We've learned the lesson that ye taught In Flanders fields. -R.W. Lilliard 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. -John McCrae Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried. So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin On his face. If he worried he hid it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couln't be done, and he did it. Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that; At least no one ever has done it"; But he took off his coat and he took off his hat, And the first thing we knew he'd begun to it. With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, Without any doubting or quiddit, He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn't be done, and he did it. There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure; There are thousands to point out to you, one be one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start to sing as you tackle the thing That "cannot be done," and you'll do it. -Edgar A. Guest He who knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool, shun him;
He who knows not, and knows that he knows not, is a child, teach him. He who knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep, wake him. He who knows, and knows that he knows, is wise, follow him. -Persian Proverb All paths lead to you
Where e'er I stray, You are the evening star At the end of the day. All paths lead to you Hill-top or low, You are the white birch In the sun's glow. All paths lead to you Where e'er I roam. You are the lark-song Calling me home! -Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff Wouldn't this old world be better
If the folks we meet would say- "I know something good about you!" And treat us just that way? Wouldn't it be fine and dandy If each handclasp, fond and true, Carried with it this assurance- "I know something good about you!" Wouldn't life be lots more happy If the good that's in us all Were the only thing about us That folks bothered to recall? Wouldn't life be lots more happy If we praised the good we see? For there's such a lot of goodness In the worst of you and me! Wouldn't it be nice to practise That fine way of thinking, too? You know something good about me, I know something good about you? -Louis C. Shimon If I knew you and you knew me-
If both of us could clearly see, And with an inner sight divine The meaning of your heart and mine- I'm sure that we would differ less And clasp our hands in friendliness; Our thoughts would pleasantly agree If I knew you, and you knew me. If I knew you and you knew me, As each one knows his own self, we Could look each other in the face And see therein a truer grace. Life has so many hidden woes, So many thorns for every rose; The "why" of things our hearts would see, If I knew you and you knew me. -Nixon Waterman When some great sorrow, like a mighty river,
Flows through your life with peace-destroying power, And dearest things are swept from sight forever, Say to your heart each trying hour: "This, too, shall pass away." When ceaseless toil has hushed your song of gladness, And you have grown almost too tired to pray, Let this truth banish from your heart its sadness, And ease the burdens of each trying day: "This, too, shall pass away." When fortune smiles, and, full of mirth and pleasure, The days are flitting by without a care, Lest you should rest with only earthly treasure, Let these few words their fullest import bear: "This, too, shall pass away." When earnest labor brings you fame and glory, And all earth's noblest ones upon you smile, Remember that life's longest, grandest story Fills but a moment in earth's little while: "This, too, shall pass away." -Lanta Wilson Smith You never can tell when you send a word
Like an arrow shot from a bow By an archer blind, be it cruel or kind, Just where it may chance to go. It may pierce the breast of your dearest friend, Tipped with its poison or balm, To a stranger's heart in life's great mart It may carry its pain or its calm. You never can tell when you do an act Just what the result will be, But with every deed you are sowing a seed, Though the harvest you may not see. Each kindly act is an acorn dropped In God's productive soil; You may not know, but the tree shall grow With shelter for those who toil. You never can tell what your thoughts will do In bringing you hate or love, For thoughts are things, and their airy wings Are swifter than carrier doves. They follow the law of the universe- Each thing must create its kind, And they speed o'er the track to bring you back Whatever went out from your mind. -Ella Wheeler Wilcox |
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