If you’ve a dream at heart, lad,Some wilfull, noble plan,Then cherish it within, lad,And tell it to no man.To friend and foe alike be dumbOn what you plan to do,And keep that secret chamber lockedUntil the work is through.For I had dreams at heart, boy,But talked them all away,And now I needs must start, boy,To dream anew today.
If you’ve a dream at heart, lad,Some wilfull, noble plan,Then cherish it within, lad,And tell it to no man.To friend and foe alike be dumbOn what you plan to do,And keep that secret chamber lockedUntil the work is through.For I had dreams at heart, boy,But talked them all away,And now I needs must start, boy,To dream anew today.
If you’ve a dream at heart, lad,Some wilfull, noble plan,Then cherish it within, lad,And tell it to no man.
To friend and foe alike be dumbOn what you plan to do,And keep that secret chamber lockedUntil the work is through.
For I had dreams at heart, boy,But talked them all away,And now I needs must start, boy,To dream anew today.
We lay together, he and I,Upon a little hill,Beneath a tree that sheltered us,As trees so often will.I touched his hand and felt him stir,Expectancy of love!And then my lips poured out my heart,The things I told him of.But when his heart began to speakThe bugles called to warAnd he arose and left me there.I never saw him more.
We lay together, he and I,Upon a little hill,Beneath a tree that sheltered us,As trees so often will.I touched his hand and felt him stir,Expectancy of love!And then my lips poured out my heart,The things I told him of.But when his heart began to speakThe bugles called to warAnd he arose and left me there.I never saw him more.
We lay together, he and I,Upon a little hill,Beneath a tree that sheltered us,As trees so often will.
I touched his hand and felt him stir,Expectancy of love!And then my lips poured out my heart,The things I told him of.
But when his heart began to speakThe bugles called to warAnd he arose and left me there.I never saw him more.
Where the old road meets the new roadI stand the guard at morn,Where one comes winding down the hill,The other, through it torn.October’s friendly fingers dippedIn every mellow shadeHave touched the leaves on all the treesThat stand within the glade.In distant treetops I behold,As I have seen in clouds,The faces of my heroesOr dead men in their shrouds.The marching columns pass me by,All sailor lads in blue.And some will wink, and some will smile,The way young fellows do.And overhead the deepening skyMore bright and bluer flows,While one lone fleecy, sheeplike cloudBefore the dog-wind goes.The restless leaves like pounding surfSound breakers through the trees.I strip of all realityAnd drown myself in these.
Where the old road meets the new roadI stand the guard at morn,Where one comes winding down the hill,The other, through it torn.October’s friendly fingers dippedIn every mellow shadeHave touched the leaves on all the treesThat stand within the glade.In distant treetops I behold,As I have seen in clouds,The faces of my heroesOr dead men in their shrouds.The marching columns pass me by,All sailor lads in blue.And some will wink, and some will smile,The way young fellows do.And overhead the deepening skyMore bright and bluer flows,While one lone fleecy, sheeplike cloudBefore the dog-wind goes.The restless leaves like pounding surfSound breakers through the trees.I strip of all realityAnd drown myself in these.
Where the old road meets the new roadI stand the guard at morn,Where one comes winding down the hill,The other, through it torn.
October’s friendly fingers dippedIn every mellow shadeHave touched the leaves on all the treesThat stand within the glade.
In distant treetops I behold,As I have seen in clouds,The faces of my heroesOr dead men in their shrouds.
The marching columns pass me by,All sailor lads in blue.And some will wink, and some will smile,The way young fellows do.
And overhead the deepening skyMore bright and bluer flows,While one lone fleecy, sheeplike cloudBefore the dog-wind goes.
The restless leaves like pounding surfSound breakers through the trees.I strip of all realityAnd drown myself in these.
When Kilmer wrote of trees he must have seenThe flowering catalpas all a-bloom,And though about him guns spoke quick of deathAnd distant cannon thundered oaths of doomHe did not harken. What were all of theseTo where beyond the trenches stood the trees?
When Kilmer wrote of trees he must have seenThe flowering catalpas all a-bloom,And though about him guns spoke quick of deathAnd distant cannon thundered oaths of doomHe did not harken. What were all of theseTo where beyond the trenches stood the trees?
When Kilmer wrote of trees he must have seenThe flowering catalpas all a-bloom,And though about him guns spoke quick of deathAnd distant cannon thundered oaths of doomHe did not harken. What were all of theseTo where beyond the trenches stood the trees?
Geese in the night flying low,I hear the beat of their wings.I wish that I could knowIf they are calling to me.Rain and a wintry windAnd trees that have shed their leaf.If man at first had not sinnedThen Christ had not been born.
Geese in the night flying low,I hear the beat of their wings.I wish that I could knowIf they are calling to me.Rain and a wintry windAnd trees that have shed their leaf.If man at first had not sinnedThen Christ had not been born.
Geese in the night flying low,I hear the beat of their wings.I wish that I could knowIf they are calling to me.
Rain and a wintry windAnd trees that have shed their leaf.If man at first had not sinnedThen Christ had not been born.
I write to you in red, though not in blood,For scarlet all my memories are dyedWith deep imaginings of what the past,The past, the past—the unforgotten gone.Ah, what it might have been designed upon!I write to you in red because the floodOf scarlet passion prisoned, long deniedYour love, yet in your bondage bonded fast,Is freed to flow again, to stream,And if it can, another love esteem.But all too long your chains upon my heartHave left a scar which testifies me deadTo all frivolity. I have no partWith lightsome love.I write to you in red!
I write to you in red, though not in blood,For scarlet all my memories are dyedWith deep imaginings of what the past,The past, the past—the unforgotten gone.Ah, what it might have been designed upon!I write to you in red because the floodOf scarlet passion prisoned, long deniedYour love, yet in your bondage bonded fast,Is freed to flow again, to stream,And if it can, another love esteem.But all too long your chains upon my heartHave left a scar which testifies me deadTo all frivolity. I have no partWith lightsome love.I write to you in red!
I write to you in red, though not in blood,For scarlet all my memories are dyedWith deep imaginings of what the past,The past, the past—the unforgotten gone.Ah, what it might have been designed upon!
I write to you in red because the floodOf scarlet passion prisoned, long deniedYour love, yet in your bondage bonded fast,Is freed to flow again, to stream,And if it can, another love esteem.
But all too long your chains upon my heartHave left a scar which testifies me deadTo all frivolity. I have no partWith lightsome love.I write to you in red!
When spring again revisits earth,And in the dark there comes a stirrethOf seedlings bursting with the birthOf summer’s future flowers,Then will I sing you songs of loveAnd apple blossoms branched aboveShall know the dear devotion ofMy poor poetic powers.But wait till then—’tis winter now.My thoughts in solitude are claimed.Yet every wind shall hear my vowRepeated through the hours,It’s you alone I love,And unashamed.
When spring again revisits earth,And in the dark there comes a stirrethOf seedlings bursting with the birthOf summer’s future flowers,Then will I sing you songs of loveAnd apple blossoms branched aboveShall know the dear devotion ofMy poor poetic powers.But wait till then—’tis winter now.My thoughts in solitude are claimed.Yet every wind shall hear my vowRepeated through the hours,It’s you alone I love,And unashamed.
When spring again revisits earth,And in the dark there comes a stirrethOf seedlings bursting with the birthOf summer’s future flowers,Then will I sing you songs of loveAnd apple blossoms branched aboveShall know the dear devotion ofMy poor poetic powers.
But wait till then—’tis winter now.My thoughts in solitude are claimed.Yet every wind shall hear my vowRepeated through the hours,It’s you alone I love,And unashamed.
Like solitary mountain peaks that listAnd seem to sink in seas of restless grainMy love for you goes drowning through a mistOf unrequited, unrecorded pain.Oh, while there’s breath of life and passion still,While yet remains a warmth, a failing flameWithin the fallen fortress of my will,Give me a moment of your love to claim.Come let me hold you close in hushed embraceAnd crush you with the force of fierce desire,Yet by that love no future plan to trace,But just to love that moment to conspire.I will not chain you, though enchained by thee;The memory of your love will prison me.
Like solitary mountain peaks that listAnd seem to sink in seas of restless grainMy love for you goes drowning through a mistOf unrequited, unrecorded pain.Oh, while there’s breath of life and passion still,While yet remains a warmth, a failing flameWithin the fallen fortress of my will,Give me a moment of your love to claim.Come let me hold you close in hushed embraceAnd crush you with the force of fierce desire,Yet by that love no future plan to trace,But just to love that moment to conspire.I will not chain you, though enchained by thee;The memory of your love will prison me.
Like solitary mountain peaks that listAnd seem to sink in seas of restless grainMy love for you goes drowning through a mistOf unrequited, unrecorded pain.
Oh, while there’s breath of life and passion still,While yet remains a warmth, a failing flameWithin the fallen fortress of my will,Give me a moment of your love to claim.
Come let me hold you close in hushed embraceAnd crush you with the force of fierce desire,Yet by that love no future plan to trace,But just to love that moment to conspire.
I will not chain you, though enchained by thee;The memory of your love will prison me.
The tropic dawn is beautiful at sea,The clouds respond so readily to light.Though overhead the stars continue brightAnd scattered like a broken string of beads,The eastward doors of night are opened wideAnd light floods all the ocean floor inside.The sun gets up, a painter out of bed,To work again his canvas of the world,To change black water into blue instead,To tint what little frantic foam gets hurledFrom two waves’ temperaments with ruby fire,And make the sea a thing for man’s desire.The day comes gently, working through the clouds,Which light and burn with brilliance many-hued.A sailor somewhere singing in the shroudsWith naked chest and feet and arms tatooed,His sailor hat at angle on his head,Salutes the day with thoughts of home and bed.Oh, take me back, away from dawn and sea,Oh, take me where the heart of me would be,And in some blessed meadow set me free!
The tropic dawn is beautiful at sea,The clouds respond so readily to light.Though overhead the stars continue brightAnd scattered like a broken string of beads,The eastward doors of night are opened wideAnd light floods all the ocean floor inside.The sun gets up, a painter out of bed,To work again his canvas of the world,To change black water into blue instead,To tint what little frantic foam gets hurledFrom two waves’ temperaments with ruby fire,And make the sea a thing for man’s desire.The day comes gently, working through the clouds,Which light and burn with brilliance many-hued.A sailor somewhere singing in the shroudsWith naked chest and feet and arms tatooed,His sailor hat at angle on his head,Salutes the day with thoughts of home and bed.Oh, take me back, away from dawn and sea,Oh, take me where the heart of me would be,And in some blessed meadow set me free!
The tropic dawn is beautiful at sea,The clouds respond so readily to light.Though overhead the stars continue brightAnd scattered like a broken string of beads,The eastward doors of night are opened wideAnd light floods all the ocean floor inside.
The sun gets up, a painter out of bed,To work again his canvas of the world,To change black water into blue instead,To tint what little frantic foam gets hurledFrom two waves’ temperaments with ruby fire,And make the sea a thing for man’s desire.
The day comes gently, working through the clouds,Which light and burn with brilliance many-hued.A sailor somewhere singing in the shroudsWith naked chest and feet and arms tatooed,His sailor hat at angle on his head,Salutes the day with thoughts of home and bed.
Oh, take me back, away from dawn and sea,Oh, take me where the heart of me would be,And in some blessed meadow set me free!
A little while ago that sky was gold,And green that hill,And blue the white-capped sea,And I stood watching through these vines a shipThat moved, hull down, beyond,Beneath the point.I wonder now, before the stars are outAnd long black clouds have filled the sunset sky,Will I remember this at midnight hour:How much I longed to be aboard that ship!
A little while ago that sky was gold,And green that hill,And blue the white-capped sea,And I stood watching through these vines a shipThat moved, hull down, beyond,Beneath the point.I wonder now, before the stars are outAnd long black clouds have filled the sunset sky,Will I remember this at midnight hour:How much I longed to be aboard that ship!
A little while ago that sky was gold,And green that hill,And blue the white-capped sea,And I stood watching through these vines a shipThat moved, hull down, beyond,Beneath the point.
I wonder now, before the stars are outAnd long black clouds have filled the sunset sky,Will I remember this at midnight hour:How much I longed to be aboard that ship!
Oh, weary heart, dependent for a songOn whether someone smiles or not at thee.Oh, weary life, the loveless years are longYet deathless are the thoughts of him to me.Within an ancient castle on the coast,Where all the sea-dead sailor lads make moan,I hear a melancholy cello singIts mad and mournful music to the moon,A dirge of febrile beauty and despairThat fills the night with phantom, frantic song.And phrase to phrase with sexual life respondsWhile fierce satyriasis, orchestrally,Like nine symphonic horns unharmonizedCalls wildly through the hollows of my heart.
Oh, weary heart, dependent for a songOn whether someone smiles or not at thee.Oh, weary life, the loveless years are longYet deathless are the thoughts of him to me.Within an ancient castle on the coast,Where all the sea-dead sailor lads make moan,I hear a melancholy cello singIts mad and mournful music to the moon,A dirge of febrile beauty and despairThat fills the night with phantom, frantic song.And phrase to phrase with sexual life respondsWhile fierce satyriasis, orchestrally,Like nine symphonic horns unharmonizedCalls wildly through the hollows of my heart.
Oh, weary heart, dependent for a songOn whether someone smiles or not at thee.Oh, weary life, the loveless years are longYet deathless are the thoughts of him to me.
Within an ancient castle on the coast,Where all the sea-dead sailor lads make moan,I hear a melancholy cello singIts mad and mournful music to the moon,A dirge of febrile beauty and despairThat fills the night with phantom, frantic song.
And phrase to phrase with sexual life respondsWhile fierce satyriasis, orchestrally,Like nine symphonic horns unharmonizedCalls wildly through the hollows of my heart.
Into the darkening east we ride,Wave upon wave we thrust aside,White and defiant they seethe around.What do we care! We’re homeward bound!The sea beneath and the sky above,These are the things a man can love,Not when he leaves his native shore,But when, far out of the sight of land,He takes the wheel with a steady handTo guide him home once more.Then homeward, homeward be my course,And constant be my star,For I have wandered east and westAnd I have wandered far,Yet home and joy can only beWhere love and friendship are.I’ve searched among the isles of menThe love I left behind,Explored for friendships in the wasteOf broken, humankind,And sought for beauty, sought for wit,With naught of all to find.In dens of laughter when I laughedThere came a hollow sound,Yet every night I went againTo join the merry round,And every night I knew that thereMy heart would not be found.Then homeward, homeward be my course,And constant be my star,And may I not have changed too muchBecause I’ve wandered far.Their love and laughter now I needWho home and friendship are.
Into the darkening east we ride,Wave upon wave we thrust aside,White and defiant they seethe around.What do we care! We’re homeward bound!The sea beneath and the sky above,These are the things a man can love,Not when he leaves his native shore,But when, far out of the sight of land,He takes the wheel with a steady handTo guide him home once more.Then homeward, homeward be my course,And constant be my star,For I have wandered east and westAnd I have wandered far,Yet home and joy can only beWhere love and friendship are.I’ve searched among the isles of menThe love I left behind,Explored for friendships in the wasteOf broken, humankind,And sought for beauty, sought for wit,With naught of all to find.In dens of laughter when I laughedThere came a hollow sound,Yet every night I went againTo join the merry round,And every night I knew that thereMy heart would not be found.Then homeward, homeward be my course,And constant be my star,And may I not have changed too muchBecause I’ve wandered far.Their love and laughter now I needWho home and friendship are.
Into the darkening east we ride,Wave upon wave we thrust aside,White and defiant they seethe around.What do we care! We’re homeward bound!
The sea beneath and the sky above,These are the things a man can love,Not when he leaves his native shore,But when, far out of the sight of land,He takes the wheel with a steady handTo guide him home once more.
Then homeward, homeward be my course,And constant be my star,For I have wandered east and westAnd I have wandered far,Yet home and joy can only beWhere love and friendship are.
I’ve searched among the isles of menThe love I left behind,Explored for friendships in the wasteOf broken, humankind,And sought for beauty, sought for wit,With naught of all to find.
In dens of laughter when I laughedThere came a hollow sound,Yet every night I went againTo join the merry round,And every night I knew that thereMy heart would not be found.
Then homeward, homeward be my course,And constant be my star,And may I not have changed too muchBecause I’ve wandered far.Their love and laughter now I needWho home and friendship are.
Quick are the sands that bury a manWhen he lays him down to die,And quick are the hands if there be no sandsOf such fellows as you and I.
Quick are the sands that bury a manWhen he lays him down to die,And quick are the hands if there be no sandsOf such fellows as you and I.
Quick are the sands that bury a manWhen he lays him down to die,And quick are the hands if there be no sandsOf such fellows as you and I.
Harbor of morning,Day has begun.Hills of OahuAre waiting the sun.Harbor of reveille,Hammocks away.Sailors are stirringOn ships in the bay.Harbor of happiness,Green and complete.Day from the summitHas smiled on the fleet.Harbor deceived,Death in the skyPlummets to earthBefore colors shall fly.Harbor surprised,Torpedo and shellTear through the living,Harbor of Hell!Harbor of terror,Harbor of death,Harbor where fellowsAre choking for breath.Harbor of drownings,Thunderous sound.Flooded compartmentsHarbor the drowned.Harbor of fire,Harbor of flame,Steel and humanityCrumble the same.Harbor determined,Stations are manned.Against the aggresorThe Harbor will stand.Harbor of courage,Gunners and gunsSpeak of the worthOf America’s sons.Harbor of shipmates,Sanctified flood,Dying together,Harbor of blood!Harbor of wounds,Beneath the attack,Fighting the enemy,Driving him back.Harbor of smoke,Blinding the sun.Harbor contested,Yet to be won.Harbor of roaring,Harbor ablaze,Harbor of horror,Harbor of praise.Harbor resurgent,Out of the gloom,Self-resurrectedOut of the tomb.Glorious Harbor,Harbor of woe,Harbor of vengeanceBlasting the foe.Harbor of hours,Endless, intense,Harbor victorious,Epic defense.Dedicate Harbor,Shipmates are thereSleeping forever.Harbor of prayer.
Harbor of morning,Day has begun.Hills of OahuAre waiting the sun.Harbor of reveille,Hammocks away.Sailors are stirringOn ships in the bay.Harbor of happiness,Green and complete.Day from the summitHas smiled on the fleet.Harbor deceived,Death in the skyPlummets to earthBefore colors shall fly.Harbor surprised,Torpedo and shellTear through the living,Harbor of Hell!Harbor of terror,Harbor of death,Harbor where fellowsAre choking for breath.Harbor of drownings,Thunderous sound.Flooded compartmentsHarbor the drowned.Harbor of fire,Harbor of flame,Steel and humanityCrumble the same.Harbor determined,Stations are manned.Against the aggresorThe Harbor will stand.Harbor of courage,Gunners and gunsSpeak of the worthOf America’s sons.Harbor of shipmates,Sanctified flood,Dying together,Harbor of blood!Harbor of wounds,Beneath the attack,Fighting the enemy,Driving him back.Harbor of smoke,Blinding the sun.Harbor contested,Yet to be won.Harbor of roaring,Harbor ablaze,Harbor of horror,Harbor of praise.Harbor resurgent,Out of the gloom,Self-resurrectedOut of the tomb.Glorious Harbor,Harbor of woe,Harbor of vengeanceBlasting the foe.Harbor of hours,Endless, intense,Harbor victorious,Epic defense.Dedicate Harbor,Shipmates are thereSleeping forever.Harbor of prayer.
Harbor of morning,Day has begun.Hills of OahuAre waiting the sun.
Harbor of reveille,Hammocks away.Sailors are stirringOn ships in the bay.
Harbor of happiness,Green and complete.Day from the summitHas smiled on the fleet.
Harbor deceived,Death in the skyPlummets to earthBefore colors shall fly.
Harbor surprised,Torpedo and shellTear through the living,Harbor of Hell!
Harbor of terror,Harbor of death,Harbor where fellowsAre choking for breath.
Harbor of drownings,Thunderous sound.Flooded compartmentsHarbor the drowned.
Harbor of fire,Harbor of flame,Steel and humanityCrumble the same.
Harbor determined,Stations are manned.Against the aggresorThe Harbor will stand.
Harbor of courage,Gunners and gunsSpeak of the worthOf America’s sons.
Harbor of shipmates,Sanctified flood,Dying together,Harbor of blood!
Harbor of wounds,Beneath the attack,Fighting the enemy,Driving him back.
Harbor of smoke,Blinding the sun.Harbor contested,Yet to be won.
Harbor of roaring,Harbor ablaze,Harbor of horror,Harbor of praise.
Harbor resurgent,Out of the gloom,Self-resurrectedOut of the tomb.
Glorious Harbor,Harbor of woe,Harbor of vengeanceBlasting the foe.
Harbor of hours,Endless, intense,Harbor victorious,Epic defense.
Dedicate Harbor,Shipmates are thereSleeping forever.Harbor of prayer.
We were waiting that morning for colors,And the bands were ready to play,And a motor launch crossing the harborWas making its peaceful way,But to war and the roar of its thunderOld Glory went up that day.The firmament split, and our gunners,The bravest and handsomest crew,Mid fiery bomb and shrapnel,Oh, how to their stations they flew!They fought like a legion of angelsAgainst the corruption of Hell,In the blaze of a sacred vengeanceFor shipmate lads who fell.They fought off the vicious invader,They cut him out of the air,And he dropped through the smoke of the combatTo death and destruction there.And our flag through the hours of battleFlew on till the fighting was won.Oh, beautiful, dedicate banner,Our victory has only begun.With such gunners as ours to defend you,So bright and beloved in the sky,While devotion and manhood attend you,Brave standard, continue on high.We were waiting that morning for colors.Old Glory forever shall fly!
We were waiting that morning for colors,And the bands were ready to play,And a motor launch crossing the harborWas making its peaceful way,But to war and the roar of its thunderOld Glory went up that day.The firmament split, and our gunners,The bravest and handsomest crew,Mid fiery bomb and shrapnel,Oh, how to their stations they flew!They fought like a legion of angelsAgainst the corruption of Hell,In the blaze of a sacred vengeanceFor shipmate lads who fell.They fought off the vicious invader,They cut him out of the air,And he dropped through the smoke of the combatTo death and destruction there.And our flag through the hours of battleFlew on till the fighting was won.Oh, beautiful, dedicate banner,Our victory has only begun.With such gunners as ours to defend you,So bright and beloved in the sky,While devotion and manhood attend you,Brave standard, continue on high.We were waiting that morning for colors.Old Glory forever shall fly!
We were waiting that morning for colors,And the bands were ready to play,And a motor launch crossing the harborWas making its peaceful way,But to war and the roar of its thunderOld Glory went up that day.
The firmament split, and our gunners,The bravest and handsomest crew,Mid fiery bomb and shrapnel,Oh, how to their stations they flew!
They fought like a legion of angelsAgainst the corruption of Hell,In the blaze of a sacred vengeanceFor shipmate lads who fell.
They fought off the vicious invader,They cut him out of the air,And he dropped through the smoke of the combatTo death and destruction there.
And our flag through the hours of battleFlew on till the fighting was won.Oh, beautiful, dedicate banner,Our victory has only begun.
With such gunners as ours to defend you,So bright and beloved in the sky,While devotion and manhood attend you,Brave standard, continue on high.We were waiting that morning for colors.Old Glory forever shall fly!
Crossing the harbor, four lads in a motor launchSaw the invader host drop from the sky,Saw a torpedo’s white wake through the waterMake for the stern of a vessel nearby.“Jump!” cried the coxswain, “Here is my duty,Here is the logic for which I was born,One life asunder to stop the torpedoEre from their bodies a hundred are torn!”“Nay,” cried the bowman. “We’re in this together.Glory to God and such men as ye are!”Seizing a boat hook he jumped to the gunwhale,As mad as old Ahab, as fixed as a star.Oh, the wild race in the harbor that morning!Prayed to his Diesel the kid engineer,“Fail me not now, O my beautiful engine!”Swiftly the launch and torpedo drew near.Wake upon wake, the two masses converging,Never a word by the sternman was said.Oh, there was death in the harbor that morning!Under the keel the torpedo shaft fled.Then with the force of a mighty harpooner,Melville’s dread hero, such bowman was he,Then from his arm the long boat hook went plungingFaster than death and destruction could flee.Into the blades of the whirling propeller,Following after, the iron hook sank,Changing the mark where the war head exploded,Tumbling the rocks and a tree from the bank.Then all around them the harbor was seething,Concussion and fire and shouting and fear,And they, too, are dead. Dead that motor launch coxswain,That bowman, and sternman and kid engineer!
Crossing the harbor, four lads in a motor launchSaw the invader host drop from the sky,Saw a torpedo’s white wake through the waterMake for the stern of a vessel nearby.“Jump!” cried the coxswain, “Here is my duty,Here is the logic for which I was born,One life asunder to stop the torpedoEre from their bodies a hundred are torn!”“Nay,” cried the bowman. “We’re in this together.Glory to God and such men as ye are!”Seizing a boat hook he jumped to the gunwhale,As mad as old Ahab, as fixed as a star.Oh, the wild race in the harbor that morning!Prayed to his Diesel the kid engineer,“Fail me not now, O my beautiful engine!”Swiftly the launch and torpedo drew near.Wake upon wake, the two masses converging,Never a word by the sternman was said.Oh, there was death in the harbor that morning!Under the keel the torpedo shaft fled.Then with the force of a mighty harpooner,Melville’s dread hero, such bowman was he,Then from his arm the long boat hook went plungingFaster than death and destruction could flee.Into the blades of the whirling propeller,Following after, the iron hook sank,Changing the mark where the war head exploded,Tumbling the rocks and a tree from the bank.Then all around them the harbor was seething,Concussion and fire and shouting and fear,And they, too, are dead. Dead that motor launch coxswain,That bowman, and sternman and kid engineer!
Crossing the harbor, four lads in a motor launchSaw the invader host drop from the sky,Saw a torpedo’s white wake through the waterMake for the stern of a vessel nearby.
“Jump!” cried the coxswain, “Here is my duty,Here is the logic for which I was born,One life asunder to stop the torpedoEre from their bodies a hundred are torn!”
“Nay,” cried the bowman. “We’re in this together.Glory to God and such men as ye are!”Seizing a boat hook he jumped to the gunwhale,As mad as old Ahab, as fixed as a star.
Oh, the wild race in the harbor that morning!Prayed to his Diesel the kid engineer,“Fail me not now, O my beautiful engine!”Swiftly the launch and torpedo drew near.
Wake upon wake, the two masses converging,Never a word by the sternman was said.Oh, there was death in the harbor that morning!Under the keel the torpedo shaft fled.
Then with the force of a mighty harpooner,Melville’s dread hero, such bowman was he,Then from his arm the long boat hook went plungingFaster than death and destruction could flee.
Into the blades of the whirling propeller,Following after, the iron hook sank,Changing the mark where the war head exploded,Tumbling the rocks and a tree from the bank.
Then all around them the harbor was seething,Concussion and fire and shouting and fear,And they, too, are dead. Dead that motor launch coxswain,That bowman, and sternman and kid engineer!
A little while, O sacramental dead,Unvisited a little while yet be.You shall not lie forgotten nor aloneWhile ships there are, and planes, and guns, and men.For now, more adamant, more fierce, more keen,In permanence and purpose fixed as stars,To finite manhood hereby we annexThe infinite almightiness of God,And we shall be His judgment! Woe to thatAmbitious offal sprung from Hell’s abyssWhich catastrophically we shall destroy,Annihilate, forever make extinct.No evil feet, where from your chaliced heartsThe precious blood has spilled, shall tread that earth,That holy, transubstantiated isleWhose very soil is body, soul, and bloodOf restless lads who loved America!On who so tread shall light and darkness pounce,Vast winged horrors plummeting, destroy,Consuming brilliance, glut-engulfing night,Like twin devourers, feed there on them!Ye ancient dead, who fell with Greece or Rome,Or in the name of Allah and his prophet,Who fell through all the cycled years of war,Through plague, disaster, fell in civil strife,Through revolution, famine, flood and fire,Apocalyptic woe or freezing night,Ye ancient dead, to whom heroic stanceAnd unsurrendered dignity still cling,Receive who come among you now like gods,Four hundred splendid, handsome, golden lads.To them extend that comradship of menWho live the rugged military life,Who smile that full, good-natured kind of smile,Most boyishly unstudied, most beloved,Who know each other’s thoughts and wants and hopes,Who know what prayers are said and what forgot,Who know that greatest, crucifying loveWhere friends for friends on strange new crosses die!And you, O Seraph Outpost Garrison,Who side by side heroically made stand,No quarter given, none received, none asked,Who fought those vicious legions in the threeOld elemental spheres, and of the fourth,Almost invincible to flame and death,Stood firmly placed before, beneath the attackLike Milton’s epic host against all Hell,New rest, brave lads, in consecrated sleep,While lonely trumpets sing through muffled drumsA requiem and threnody of grief.Ah, great Cecilia, Bach, and Handel blind,Those last full-throated notes to swell from earth,That trumpet song of loneliness and night,Give it a contrapuntal theme beneath,Whose pedal harmonies orchestrallyShall hint of resurrection, while the pipesAnd organ-pillar’d flutes resound the modeTo which the ancient dead have matched and sung.Then light the strings until they burn as brightAnd numberless as candles round a shrine,Then start the rolling drums, and set the brassCannonically recalling one another,And let the reeds’ ancestral wisdom speak,What though at first the grave bassoons must weepTheir melancholy, febrile lamentation.Unsheathe the horns and cut the harmonic knot.Let full grand orchestra astound the voidWith soaring fugue and metric tympani.And in this last, let herald trumpets singWhile bright kid-trumpeteers who fell at PearlResound a call to quarters there beyond!
A little while, O sacramental dead,Unvisited a little while yet be.You shall not lie forgotten nor aloneWhile ships there are, and planes, and guns, and men.For now, more adamant, more fierce, more keen,In permanence and purpose fixed as stars,To finite manhood hereby we annexThe infinite almightiness of God,And we shall be His judgment! Woe to thatAmbitious offal sprung from Hell’s abyssWhich catastrophically we shall destroy,Annihilate, forever make extinct.No evil feet, where from your chaliced heartsThe precious blood has spilled, shall tread that earth,That holy, transubstantiated isleWhose very soil is body, soul, and bloodOf restless lads who loved America!On who so tread shall light and darkness pounce,Vast winged horrors plummeting, destroy,Consuming brilliance, glut-engulfing night,Like twin devourers, feed there on them!Ye ancient dead, who fell with Greece or Rome,Or in the name of Allah and his prophet,Who fell through all the cycled years of war,Through plague, disaster, fell in civil strife,Through revolution, famine, flood and fire,Apocalyptic woe or freezing night,Ye ancient dead, to whom heroic stanceAnd unsurrendered dignity still cling,Receive who come among you now like gods,Four hundred splendid, handsome, golden lads.To them extend that comradship of menWho live the rugged military life,Who smile that full, good-natured kind of smile,Most boyishly unstudied, most beloved,Who know each other’s thoughts and wants and hopes,Who know what prayers are said and what forgot,Who know that greatest, crucifying loveWhere friends for friends on strange new crosses die!And you, O Seraph Outpost Garrison,Who side by side heroically made stand,No quarter given, none received, none asked,Who fought those vicious legions in the threeOld elemental spheres, and of the fourth,Almost invincible to flame and death,Stood firmly placed before, beneath the attackLike Milton’s epic host against all Hell,New rest, brave lads, in consecrated sleep,While lonely trumpets sing through muffled drumsA requiem and threnody of grief.Ah, great Cecilia, Bach, and Handel blind,Those last full-throated notes to swell from earth,That trumpet song of loneliness and night,Give it a contrapuntal theme beneath,Whose pedal harmonies orchestrallyShall hint of resurrection, while the pipesAnd organ-pillar’d flutes resound the modeTo which the ancient dead have matched and sung.Then light the strings until they burn as brightAnd numberless as candles round a shrine,Then start the rolling drums, and set the brassCannonically recalling one another,And let the reeds’ ancestral wisdom speak,What though at first the grave bassoons must weepTheir melancholy, febrile lamentation.Unsheathe the horns and cut the harmonic knot.Let full grand orchestra astound the voidWith soaring fugue and metric tympani.And in this last, let herald trumpets singWhile bright kid-trumpeteers who fell at PearlResound a call to quarters there beyond!
A little while, O sacramental dead,Unvisited a little while yet be.You shall not lie forgotten nor aloneWhile ships there are, and planes, and guns, and men.For now, more adamant, more fierce, more keen,In permanence and purpose fixed as stars,To finite manhood hereby we annexThe infinite almightiness of God,And we shall be His judgment! Woe to thatAmbitious offal sprung from Hell’s abyssWhich catastrophically we shall destroy,Annihilate, forever make extinct.
No evil feet, where from your chaliced heartsThe precious blood has spilled, shall tread that earth,That holy, transubstantiated isleWhose very soil is body, soul, and bloodOf restless lads who loved America!On who so tread shall light and darkness pounce,Vast winged horrors plummeting, destroy,Consuming brilliance, glut-engulfing night,Like twin devourers, feed there on them!
Ye ancient dead, who fell with Greece or Rome,Or in the name of Allah and his prophet,Who fell through all the cycled years of war,Through plague, disaster, fell in civil strife,Through revolution, famine, flood and fire,Apocalyptic woe or freezing night,Ye ancient dead, to whom heroic stanceAnd unsurrendered dignity still cling,Receive who come among you now like gods,Four hundred splendid, handsome, golden lads.To them extend that comradship of menWho live the rugged military life,Who smile that full, good-natured kind of smile,Most boyishly unstudied, most beloved,Who know each other’s thoughts and wants and hopes,Who know what prayers are said and what forgot,Who know that greatest, crucifying loveWhere friends for friends on strange new crosses die!
And you, O Seraph Outpost Garrison,Who side by side heroically made stand,No quarter given, none received, none asked,Who fought those vicious legions in the threeOld elemental spheres, and of the fourth,Almost invincible to flame and death,Stood firmly placed before, beneath the attackLike Milton’s epic host against all Hell,New rest, brave lads, in consecrated sleep,While lonely trumpets sing through muffled drumsA requiem and threnody of grief.
Ah, great Cecilia, Bach, and Handel blind,Those last full-throated notes to swell from earth,That trumpet song of loneliness and night,Give it a contrapuntal theme beneath,Whose pedal harmonies orchestrallyShall hint of resurrection, while the pipesAnd organ-pillar’d flutes resound the modeTo which the ancient dead have matched and sung.
Then light the strings until they burn as brightAnd numberless as candles round a shrine,Then start the rolling drums, and set the brassCannonically recalling one another,And let the reeds’ ancestral wisdom speak,What though at first the grave bassoons must weepTheir melancholy, febrile lamentation.Unsheathe the horns and cut the harmonic knot.Let full grand orchestra astound the voidWith soaring fugue and metric tympani.
And in this last, let herald trumpets singWhile bright kid-trumpeteers who fell at PearlResound a call to quarters there beyond!
Corregidor and Calvary,And Christ again is crucified,And all the lovely lads who diedAre His this day in Paradise.They hung upon a wretched cross,We watched them day by day,And wondered how such men could liveWho hung in such a way,Who hung in thorns of screeching steelAnd had no time to pray.We knew that soon the lads must die,And yet they battled deathUnmindful of his awful wingsAnd black, consuming breath,Unmindful when he roared at themOr whispered what he saith.For shattered men will die in pain,And shaken men will weep,And there are things which blast the bloodAnd through the body creep,And men will not lie down at nightAfeared that they will sleep.Afeared they would too deeply sleep,That battered hearts would burst;And though each knew that he must die,The dawn must beckon first,And each must feel again the gripOf loneliness and thirst.For none would die alone, apart,By twos and twelves they fell,And if a man could walk he worked,He loaded shot and shell,For none would die alone, apart,Within a narrow cell.Within a narrow cell at lastAll men someday must lie,But while their blood was in the heartAnd light within the eye,They would not leave the stand they tookBeneath the open sky.They would not leave us, watching them,Examples of defeat,That when we come to look on death,And though our ranks deplete,Somehow we must think back to them,The way they met it, meet!
Corregidor and Calvary,And Christ again is crucified,And all the lovely lads who diedAre His this day in Paradise.They hung upon a wretched cross,We watched them day by day,And wondered how such men could liveWho hung in such a way,Who hung in thorns of screeching steelAnd had no time to pray.We knew that soon the lads must die,And yet they battled deathUnmindful of his awful wingsAnd black, consuming breath,Unmindful when he roared at themOr whispered what he saith.For shattered men will die in pain,And shaken men will weep,And there are things which blast the bloodAnd through the body creep,And men will not lie down at nightAfeared that they will sleep.Afeared they would too deeply sleep,That battered hearts would burst;And though each knew that he must die,The dawn must beckon first,And each must feel again the gripOf loneliness and thirst.For none would die alone, apart,By twos and twelves they fell,And if a man could walk he worked,He loaded shot and shell,For none would die alone, apart,Within a narrow cell.Within a narrow cell at lastAll men someday must lie,But while their blood was in the heartAnd light within the eye,They would not leave the stand they tookBeneath the open sky.They would not leave us, watching them,Examples of defeat,That when we come to look on death,And though our ranks deplete,Somehow we must think back to them,The way they met it, meet!
Corregidor and Calvary,And Christ again is crucified,And all the lovely lads who diedAre His this day in Paradise.
They hung upon a wretched cross,We watched them day by day,And wondered how such men could liveWho hung in such a way,Who hung in thorns of screeching steelAnd had no time to pray.
We knew that soon the lads must die,And yet they battled deathUnmindful of his awful wingsAnd black, consuming breath,Unmindful when he roared at themOr whispered what he saith.
For shattered men will die in pain,And shaken men will weep,And there are things which blast the bloodAnd through the body creep,And men will not lie down at nightAfeared that they will sleep.
Afeared they would too deeply sleep,That battered hearts would burst;And though each knew that he must die,The dawn must beckon first,And each must feel again the gripOf loneliness and thirst.
For none would die alone, apart,By twos and twelves they fell,And if a man could walk he worked,He loaded shot and shell,For none would die alone, apart,Within a narrow cell.
Within a narrow cell at lastAll men someday must lie,But while their blood was in the heartAnd light within the eye,They would not leave the stand they tookBeneath the open sky.
They would not leave us, watching them,Examples of defeat,That when we come to look on death,And though our ranks deplete,Somehow we must think back to them,The way they met it, meet!
Alas, Love, I would thou couldst as welldefende thy selfe as thou canst offende others—SIR PHILIP SIDNEY
Alas, Love, I would thou couldst as welldefende thy selfe as thou canst offende others—SIR PHILIP SIDNEY
Alas, Love, I would thou couldst as welldefende thy selfe as thou canst offende others—SIR PHILIP SIDNEY
When he and I had met I knewThe way he smiled at meThat we’d become the best of palsTwo guys could ever be.For night and day he filled my thoughts,I talked of only him,But there were eyes which watched us both,Suspicious, cold, and dim.Suspicious eyes and little mouthsThat each reporting madeOf all the times we went to swimOr rested in the shade.They told of how we’d taken horseTo ride about the lea,And how two lonely mounts were seenBeneath a rugged tree.They gossiped how instead of churchWe went to watch the sunCome charging over purple hillsTo see the day begun,And how we came not home againUntil that day was done.And he and I went off to war,Yet still their evil fed.He never knew, not ever will,The wretched things they said,For he was on Corregidor,And now the lad is dead.
When he and I had met I knewThe way he smiled at meThat we’d become the best of palsTwo guys could ever be.For night and day he filled my thoughts,I talked of only him,But there were eyes which watched us both,Suspicious, cold, and dim.Suspicious eyes and little mouthsThat each reporting madeOf all the times we went to swimOr rested in the shade.They told of how we’d taken horseTo ride about the lea,And how two lonely mounts were seenBeneath a rugged tree.They gossiped how instead of churchWe went to watch the sunCome charging over purple hillsTo see the day begun,And how we came not home againUntil that day was done.And he and I went off to war,Yet still their evil fed.He never knew, not ever will,The wretched things they said,For he was on Corregidor,And now the lad is dead.
When he and I had met I knewThe way he smiled at meThat we’d become the best of palsTwo guys could ever be.
For night and day he filled my thoughts,I talked of only him,But there were eyes which watched us both,Suspicious, cold, and dim.
Suspicious eyes and little mouthsThat each reporting madeOf all the times we went to swimOr rested in the shade.
They told of how we’d taken horseTo ride about the lea,And how two lonely mounts were seenBeneath a rugged tree.
They gossiped how instead of churchWe went to watch the sunCome charging over purple hillsTo see the day begun,And how we came not home againUntil that day was done.
And he and I went off to war,Yet still their evil fed.He never knew, not ever will,The wretched things they said,For he was on Corregidor,And now the lad is dead.
There’s only one banner says “Semper Fidelis!”There’s only one flag we defend,There’s only one heart and one mind and one bodyIn all of our battles we send.We fought and we bled on Bataan and Corregidor,Oh, how we held them at Wake!And waited in vain for more men and munitionsWith all the Pacific at stake.The sleepers were many, but we were the fewWho wakened the quickest and fought,And while readjustment and training were planned,We did what we could, what we ought.Our dead are at Henderson. Think you they rest?They fight even now at our side,Refusing to enter the realms of the blestUntil we have beaten the tide!
There’s only one banner says “Semper Fidelis!”There’s only one flag we defend,There’s only one heart and one mind and one bodyIn all of our battles we send.We fought and we bled on Bataan and Corregidor,Oh, how we held them at Wake!And waited in vain for more men and munitionsWith all the Pacific at stake.The sleepers were many, but we were the fewWho wakened the quickest and fought,And while readjustment and training were planned,We did what we could, what we ought.Our dead are at Henderson. Think you they rest?They fight even now at our side,Refusing to enter the realms of the blestUntil we have beaten the tide!
There’s only one banner says “Semper Fidelis!”There’s only one flag we defend,There’s only one heart and one mind and one bodyIn all of our battles we send.
We fought and we bled on Bataan and Corregidor,Oh, how we held them at Wake!And waited in vain for more men and munitionsWith all the Pacific at stake.
The sleepers were many, but we were the fewWho wakened the quickest and fought,And while readjustment and training were planned,We did what we could, what we ought.
Our dead are at Henderson. Think you they rest?They fight even now at our side,Refusing to enter the realms of the blestUntil we have beaten the tide!
The enemy’s reported,And he’d like to see the show,But he handles ammunitionSo he’s got to go below.And he’s ready on his station,Every nerve alert and keen,With a group of grim-faced sailorsIn a lower magazine.They can feel the ship’s vibrationsWhen the broadside salvos go,And the shatter of the turretsWhen they batter at the foe.“Send ’em up and keep ’em coming!Man the phones and man the hoist!”Sweat and curse and pass the powderTill the very deck is moist.But the enemy is daring,And his planes get through the screen,A torpedo rips the blisterJust above the magazine.Water fills the whole compartment,In another fires rage,But the guns still get their powderAnd the enemy engage.Trapped below, the lads are living,And the hungry hoist they feed,Though the first concussion stunned themAnd their deafened ears must bleed.Other hits, the foeman scoring,Thunderous roars of flaming sheen,“Save the ship from an explosion,Flood the lower magazine!”Lads, farewell! The air was dirtyWith a lot of fume and smoke,It’s as bad, lads, when you smotherAs on briny water choke.But the enemy’s defeated,Thanks to you who’ll never know,You who handled ammunitionAnd who had to go below!
The enemy’s reported,And he’d like to see the show,But he handles ammunitionSo he’s got to go below.And he’s ready on his station,Every nerve alert and keen,With a group of grim-faced sailorsIn a lower magazine.They can feel the ship’s vibrationsWhen the broadside salvos go,And the shatter of the turretsWhen they batter at the foe.“Send ’em up and keep ’em coming!Man the phones and man the hoist!”Sweat and curse and pass the powderTill the very deck is moist.But the enemy is daring,And his planes get through the screen,A torpedo rips the blisterJust above the magazine.Water fills the whole compartment,In another fires rage,But the guns still get their powderAnd the enemy engage.Trapped below, the lads are living,And the hungry hoist they feed,Though the first concussion stunned themAnd their deafened ears must bleed.Other hits, the foeman scoring,Thunderous roars of flaming sheen,“Save the ship from an explosion,Flood the lower magazine!”Lads, farewell! The air was dirtyWith a lot of fume and smoke,It’s as bad, lads, when you smotherAs on briny water choke.But the enemy’s defeated,Thanks to you who’ll never know,You who handled ammunitionAnd who had to go below!
The enemy’s reported,And he’d like to see the show,But he handles ammunitionSo he’s got to go below.
And he’s ready on his station,Every nerve alert and keen,With a group of grim-faced sailorsIn a lower magazine.
They can feel the ship’s vibrationsWhen the broadside salvos go,And the shatter of the turretsWhen they batter at the foe.
“Send ’em up and keep ’em coming!Man the phones and man the hoist!”Sweat and curse and pass the powderTill the very deck is moist.
But the enemy is daring,And his planes get through the screen,A torpedo rips the blisterJust above the magazine.
Water fills the whole compartment,In another fires rage,But the guns still get their powderAnd the enemy engage.
Trapped below, the lads are living,And the hungry hoist they feed,Though the first concussion stunned themAnd their deafened ears must bleed.
Other hits, the foeman scoring,Thunderous roars of flaming sheen,“Save the ship from an explosion,Flood the lower magazine!”
Lads, farewell! The air was dirtyWith a lot of fume and smoke,It’s as bad, lads, when you smotherAs on briny water choke.
But the enemy’s defeated,Thanks to you who’ll never know,You who handled ammunitionAnd who had to go below!
It was on the road to High WoodThat we found him lying dead,The soldier boy in khakiWith the broken, battered head.No more at dawn or sunsetWill he hear the bugle note,Nor thrill to taps ascendingFrom a trumpet’s silver throat.It was on the road to High WoodWhere the maple leaves were burnedThat the lad went out at morningAnd nevermore returned.There are many roads to High Wood,There are many roads to Hell,And the fields of wheat are rottenWhere a thousand heroes fell.
It was on the road to High WoodThat we found him lying dead,The soldier boy in khakiWith the broken, battered head.No more at dawn or sunsetWill he hear the bugle note,Nor thrill to taps ascendingFrom a trumpet’s silver throat.It was on the road to High WoodWhere the maple leaves were burnedThat the lad went out at morningAnd nevermore returned.There are many roads to High Wood,There are many roads to Hell,And the fields of wheat are rottenWhere a thousand heroes fell.
It was on the road to High WoodThat we found him lying dead,The soldier boy in khakiWith the broken, battered head.
No more at dawn or sunsetWill he hear the bugle note,Nor thrill to taps ascendingFrom a trumpet’s silver throat.
It was on the road to High WoodWhere the maple leaves were burnedThat the lad went out at morningAnd nevermore returned.
There are many roads to High Wood,There are many roads to Hell,And the fields of wheat are rottenWhere a thousand heroes fell.
His ship is on the oceanBut the sailor lad’s ashore,And deeply, deeply sleeping,He’ll waken nevermore.We buried him atop the hillThat overlooks the bay,And one there was who walked from thereWith slower steps away.And one there is on watch at nightWho wears the strangest smile,Because he sees a specter ladAnd talks with him awhile.Across the world he comes to me,And far horizons dim,And I await the day when I,Instead, shall go to him.Then we will sail on all the seasThat poets can recite,And stand beside another lad,And watch with him at night.
His ship is on the oceanBut the sailor lad’s ashore,And deeply, deeply sleeping,He’ll waken nevermore.We buried him atop the hillThat overlooks the bay,And one there was who walked from thereWith slower steps away.And one there is on watch at nightWho wears the strangest smile,Because he sees a specter ladAnd talks with him awhile.Across the world he comes to me,And far horizons dim,And I await the day when I,Instead, shall go to him.Then we will sail on all the seasThat poets can recite,And stand beside another lad,And watch with him at night.
His ship is on the oceanBut the sailor lad’s ashore,And deeply, deeply sleeping,He’ll waken nevermore.
We buried him atop the hillThat overlooks the bay,And one there was who walked from thereWith slower steps away.
And one there is on watch at nightWho wears the strangest smile,Because he sees a specter ladAnd talks with him awhile.
Across the world he comes to me,And far horizons dim,And I await the day when I,Instead, shall go to him.
Then we will sail on all the seasThat poets can recite,And stand beside another lad,And watch with him at night.
They shot him as he left the houseAnd stripped him in the snowBut still he held the samovarAnd would not let it go.Who knows from what fine home he cameWith afternoons at tea?If I had been that lonely lad,They would have shot at me.For I’d have run as desperatelyBehind some log to settle,And sit me down beside my theft,The big, old Russian kettle.But dead he lies; the snow piles highAnd winter fills the land,And only spring will move the thingAnd take it from his hand.
They shot him as he left the houseAnd stripped him in the snowBut still he held the samovarAnd would not let it go.Who knows from what fine home he cameWith afternoons at tea?If I had been that lonely lad,They would have shot at me.For I’d have run as desperatelyBehind some log to settle,And sit me down beside my theft,The big, old Russian kettle.But dead he lies; the snow piles highAnd winter fills the land,And only spring will move the thingAnd take it from his hand.
They shot him as he left the houseAnd stripped him in the snowBut still he held the samovarAnd would not let it go.
Who knows from what fine home he cameWith afternoons at tea?If I had been that lonely lad,They would have shot at me.
For I’d have run as desperatelyBehind some log to settle,And sit me down beside my theft,The big, old Russian kettle.
But dead he lies; the snow piles highAnd winter fills the land,And only spring will move the thingAnd take it from his hand.
Beside you while you slumbered, lad,My restless heart had lainThrough all the hours of the nightAware of love and pain.Aware of love and morning’s lightAnd eyes that must betrayWhen someday you should look in mineThen ever look away.I’ll come to where you slumber, lad,If death shall mark me notAnd say the prayer that now I pray,And thought I had forgot.
Beside you while you slumbered, lad,My restless heart had lainThrough all the hours of the nightAware of love and pain.Aware of love and morning’s lightAnd eyes that must betrayWhen someday you should look in mineThen ever look away.I’ll come to where you slumber, lad,If death shall mark me notAnd say the prayer that now I pray,And thought I had forgot.
Beside you while you slumbered, lad,My restless heart had lainThrough all the hours of the nightAware of love and pain.
Aware of love and morning’s lightAnd eyes that must betrayWhen someday you should look in mineThen ever look away.
I’ll come to where you slumber, lad,If death shall mark me notAnd say the prayer that now I pray,And thought I had forgot.
The crooked swing that hung beneathThe crooked willow treeBrought all his laughter to my earsWhen school was out at three.When later years and afternoonsTheir symphony had sungBeneath the crooked willow treeAn idle swing had hung.Then war came on. There’s always warTo readjust the past,And he got leave and I got leave,And home we came at last.But I alone return tonightAnd naught to battle bring,For he is dead beneath the treeAnd broken hangs the swing.
The crooked swing that hung beneathThe crooked willow treeBrought all his laughter to my earsWhen school was out at three.When later years and afternoonsTheir symphony had sungBeneath the crooked willow treeAn idle swing had hung.Then war came on. There’s always warTo readjust the past,And he got leave and I got leave,And home we came at last.But I alone return tonightAnd naught to battle bring,For he is dead beneath the treeAnd broken hangs the swing.
The crooked swing that hung beneathThe crooked willow treeBrought all his laughter to my earsWhen school was out at three.
When later years and afternoonsTheir symphony had sungBeneath the crooked willow treeAn idle swing had hung.
Then war came on. There’s always warTo readjust the past,And he got leave and I got leave,And home we came at last.
But I alone return tonightAnd naught to battle bring,For he is dead beneath the treeAnd broken hangs the swing.
Unfurrowed field and lonely plow,The laughing lad has fled,Sweet-throated, unaccompanied lark,The laughing lad is dead.I found him on a barren tract,Stretched out and lying still,And on his lips the blood had dried,And on the blasted hill.Oh, that was far from hills like these,A hundred thousand gunsAre booming, bursting in his earsAnd he does not hear a one.A soldier’s thoughts and a soldier’s laughAnd a soldier’s boyish grinAre dead on a lonely battlefield,And the war is yet to win.
Unfurrowed field and lonely plow,The laughing lad has fled,Sweet-throated, unaccompanied lark,The laughing lad is dead.I found him on a barren tract,Stretched out and lying still,And on his lips the blood had dried,And on the blasted hill.Oh, that was far from hills like these,A hundred thousand gunsAre booming, bursting in his earsAnd he does not hear a one.A soldier’s thoughts and a soldier’s laughAnd a soldier’s boyish grinAre dead on a lonely battlefield,And the war is yet to win.
Unfurrowed field and lonely plow,The laughing lad has fled,Sweet-throated, unaccompanied lark,The laughing lad is dead.
I found him on a barren tract,Stretched out and lying still,And on his lips the blood had dried,And on the blasted hill.
Oh, that was far from hills like these,A hundred thousand gunsAre booming, bursting in his earsAnd he does not hear a one.
A soldier’s thoughts and a soldier’s laughAnd a soldier’s boyish grinAre dead on a lonely battlefield,And the war is yet to win.
The night wind hums a lullaby,A watchful bivouac keep.The guns are silent now awhile,Yet, soldier, do not sleep.Though weary with the force of night,And weary with the war,Sleep not, be watchful, quick alert,Or sleep forever more.But words are nought to tired eyes,And what are words of praiseTo minds that long to dream a bitOf other, saner days.He sleeps, unmindful of his oath,And then they find him dead,The other soldier stands his guardWho shot him through the head.The night wind hums a lullaby,A watchful bivouac keep.The guns are silent now awhile,Yet, soldier, do not sleep!
The night wind hums a lullaby,A watchful bivouac keep.The guns are silent now awhile,Yet, soldier, do not sleep.Though weary with the force of night,And weary with the war,Sleep not, be watchful, quick alert,Or sleep forever more.But words are nought to tired eyes,And what are words of praiseTo minds that long to dream a bitOf other, saner days.He sleeps, unmindful of his oath,And then they find him dead,The other soldier stands his guardWho shot him through the head.The night wind hums a lullaby,A watchful bivouac keep.The guns are silent now awhile,Yet, soldier, do not sleep!
The night wind hums a lullaby,A watchful bivouac keep.The guns are silent now awhile,Yet, soldier, do not sleep.Though weary with the force of night,And weary with the war,Sleep not, be watchful, quick alert,Or sleep forever more.
But words are nought to tired eyes,And what are words of praiseTo minds that long to dream a bitOf other, saner days.He sleeps, unmindful of his oath,And then they find him dead,The other soldier stands his guardWho shot him through the head.
The night wind hums a lullaby,A watchful bivouac keep.The guns are silent now awhile,Yet, soldier, do not sleep!