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No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die,
To face the flaming cannon's mouth nor ever question why,
Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red,
The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed,
The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall:
'Tis these that make a soldier great.
He's fighting for them all.
'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave;
'Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may wave;
For soldiers never fight so well on land or on the foam
As when behind the cause they see the little place called home.
Endanger but that humble street whereon his children run,
You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun.
What is it through the battle smoke the valiant solider sees?
The little garden far away, the budding apple trees,
The little patch of ground back there, the children at their play,
Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church of gray.
The golden thread of courage isn't linked to castle dome
But to the spot, where'er it be -- the humblest spot called home.
And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there
And homesick soldiers far away know spring is in the air;
The tulips come to bloom again, the grass once more is green,
And every man can see the spot where all his joys have been.
He sees his children smile at him, he hears the bugle call,
And only death can stop him now he's fighting for them all.
Thankful for the riches that are ours to claim and keep,
Thankful for the plenty that our peaceful land has blessed,
To-day our thanks we're giving for the riches that are ours,
Into God's valleys where they lie
Our hearts must be the roses red
The finest tribute we can pay
The American Spirit speaks:
To the Judge of Right and Wrong
Let Freedom's land rejoice!
Not at a little cost,
But, after the fires and the wrath,
In the Gates of Death rejoice!
Then praise the Lord Most High
To the God in Man displayed
To the Spirit that moves in Man,
Under General Greene, in South Carolina,
who fell in the action of September 8, 1781
AT Eutaw Springs the valiant died;
If in this wreck or ruin, they
Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain,
Stranger, their humble graves adorn;
They saw their injured country's woe;
Led by thy conquering genius, Greene,
But, like the Parthian, famed of old,
Now rest in peace, our patriot band,
So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;
I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!
Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
To have been read before the statue of Lafayette and Washington in Paris, on Decoration Day, 30 May 1916
Ay, it is fitting on this holiday,
Be they remembered here with each reviving spring,
Yet sought they neither recompense nor praise,
O friends! I know not since that war began
There, holding still, in frozen steadfastness,
The world must be made
safe for democracy.
Woodrow Wilson, 2 April 1917
Not with the rolling voices of the guns,
Power shall answer might in days to come,
But that is for the future; here today
He must be safe who delves with humble hands !
Only for this we go into the murk :
But to this monstrous thing which men have made
We call a halt ! and bid it stand and draw !
Dysart enlisted at the entrace of the United States into World War I and served the Red Cross in France as a commissioned officer.
No more thou dreamest of a peace reserved alone for thee,
O curel is the conquer-lust in Hohenzollern brains:
Britain, and France and Italy, and Russia newly born,
O dearest country of my heart, home of the high desire,
Hail sons of France, old comrades dear !
Here endeth war ! Our bands are sworn !
Now hands all 'round, our troth we plight,
To free all lands from hate and spite,
O thou, who long ago
Not bound by earthly loam
O land, whose living soul
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