For the Fallen (Sept. 21, 1914), September 21, 1914

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of 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 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.

Written as a reaction to the high casualty rates of the British Expeditionary Force at Mons and Le Cateau
-Laurence Robert Binyon

1-12-1985/09-10-2009

They are more than a name . . . please remember.

Thoughts from Over There

I used to believe we had lost command of the English language, but it seems that grammar is not everything. Some retain the ability to write simply and with great feeling. I stand corrected.

Army Staff Sgt. Dale Panchot, 26, of Northome, Minn., in a letter to his family.

“I was reading my Bible the other night and in the book of Genesis ... it said when God created the heavens and earth, he made four rivers, two of which are here in Iraq, the Tigris and the Euphrates. So after I found that out, I had to go down by the river and touch the water. I tell you, it was something else. Pretty cool, huh?”

The final journal entry of Army National Guard Chief Warrant Officer Bruce Smith, 41, of West Liberty, Iowa. His wife, Oliva, received the necklace in the mail two days after his funeral, with a short note:

“Oliva, Happy Birthday Early. Love Bruce.”“I sent Oliva a b-day present yesterday. A nice necklace. She will get it a couple of weeks early but that is good.”

Army National Guard Sgt. Roger Rowe, 54, of Bon Aqua, Tenn., in his last letter to his wife, Shirley.

“Love has always gotten us through and it will do so again.”

Army Pfc. Diego Rincon, 19, of Conyers, Ga., in his last letter home.

“Whether I make it or not, it’s all part of the plan. It can’t be changed, only completed. Mother will be the last word I’ll say. Your face will be the last picture that goes through my eyes. ... I just hope that you’re proud of what I’m doing and have faith in my decisions. I will try hard and not give up. I just want to say sorry for anything I have ever done wrong. And I’m doing it all for you mom. I love you.”

Some Gave All

Executive Mansion,Washington, Nov. 21, 1864.
Dear Madam,--
I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.

I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.

Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,
A. Lincoln

Weekends . . .

Einstein had something going with the whole relativity thing. I have my own theory regarding weekends. I don't know how E=mc2 will figure into it, but I know that somehow time accelerates over the weekend and then slows to a crawl. My weeks here have, for the most part, gone by fairly quickly. I set small milestones along the way so that I can act surprised when I get to them. Childish, I know. Wednesday night is the best one for me so far. I found a really good church here and look forward to visiting with the people there.

But back to the weekends. Thus far the weekends cruise by at the speed of light. I usually catch a movie and then do some hiking with a friend of mine from church. Today we hiked in an old abandoned mine up in the Huachuca Mountains. The weekends have been a great experience here, but they just fly by so quickly. I always seem to find myself on Sunday night lamenting the coming morning.

As I walked through Hasting's buying books to entertain me over the coming weeks, I also made a movie purchase. Their on the shelf was no movie other than "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken." Many may have no idea that this movies exists, but it stars Don Knotts as a would be newspaper reporter vs. an old haunted house and the murder mystery within. A lot of people don't like that kind of comedy, but I thoroughly enjoy it. I've watched it twice already, and Monday doesn't seem so bad. Can Don Knotts thwart the theory of relativity?

Maybe I'll make another disjointed post like this soon.

Stil thinking

I've been stewing over what I wrote yesterday and have some more thoughts to post about it; however, my homework from my schooling has crowded into my evening. I think I'll ruminate on it some more and post more tomorrow. Besides, I'm almost finished with my Dean Koontz novel and will probably wrap it up tonight (instead of reading army field manuals).

So I will post a picture. I've been studying some military history and recently purchased the "Band of Brothers" DVD box set. So I give you the true reason for the allied victory in World War II. Who knew it was so simple?