SOLDIERS SOLDIERS
And only you on silvery twilight pillows
Shall take your rest
In the soft, sweet glooms
Of twilight rooms.
The Seconds that tick as the clock moves along
Are Privates who march with a spirit so strong.
The Minutes are Captains. The Hours of the day
Are Officers brave, who lead on to the fray.
So, remember, when tempted to loiter and dream
You've an army at hand; your command is supreme;
And question yourself, as it goes on review—
Has it helped in the fight with the best it could
do?
Philander Johnson. Lines selected by Paymaster Gen. McGowan to distribute to
those under his command during the Great
War. See Everybody's Magazine, May, 1920.
P. 36.
He smote them hip and thigh.
Judges. XV. 8.
In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet,
There is a new-made grave today,
Built by never a spade nor pick,
Yet covered with earth ten meters thick.
There he many fighting men,
Dead in their youthful prime.
Joyce Khmer—Rouge Bouquet.
Let not him that girdeth on his harness boast
himself as he that putteth it off.
I Kings. XX. 11.
As we pledge the health of our general, who fares
as rough as we,
What can daunt us, what can turn us, led to
death by such as he?
| author = Charles Kingsley
| work = A March.
"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Fileson-Parade.
"To turn you out, to turn you out," the Colour
Sergeant said.
Kipling—Danny Deever.
"For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can
'ear the Dead March play,
The regiment's in 'ollow square—They're hangin' him to-day;
They're taken of his buttons off an' cut his
stripes away.
An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the morning."
Kipling—Danny Deever.
The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood
an' stone;
'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own;
'E keeps 'is side-arms awful: 'e leaves 'em all
about,
An' then comes up the Regiment an' pokes the
'eathen out. '
Kipling—The 'Eathen.
So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in
the Soudan;
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class
fightin' man;
And 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air;
You big black boundin' beggar—for you broke a
British square!
Kipling—Fuzzy-Wuzzy.
For it's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an'
"Chuck 'im out, the brute!"
But it's "Savior of 'is country," when the guns
begin to shoot.
Kipling—Tommy.
It is not the guns or armament
Or the money they can pay,
It's the close co-operation
That makes them win the day.
It is not the individual
Or the army as a whole,
But the everlastin' teamwork
Of every bloomin' soul.
J. Mason Knox. Claimed for him by his
wife in a communication in New York
Times.
But in a large sense we cannot dedicate, we
cannot hallow this ground. The brave men,
living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or
detract.
Lincoln—Gettysburg Address. Nov. 19, 1863.
Nulla fides pietasque viris qui castra sequuntur.
Good faith and probity are rarely found ,
among the followers of the camp. /
Lucan—Pharsalia. X. 407.
{{Hoyt quote
| num = | text = <poem>Ned has gone, he's gone away, he's gone away
for good. He's called, he's killed. Him and his drum lies in the rain, lies where they was stood. Where they was stilled. A. Neil Lyons (."Edwin Smallweed
