For CaptainJamesDavis “A Precious Love”

Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle & Randy Thomas

father-and-daughter

Butterfly Kisses
There’s two things I know for sure.
She was sent here from heaven,
and she’s daddy’s little girl.
As I drop to my knees by her bed at night,
she talks to Jesus, and I close my eyes.
And I thank God for all of the joy in
my life, But most of all, for…

Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer.
Stickin’ little white flowers all up in her hair.
“Walk beside the pony daddy,
it’s my first ride.”
“I know the cake looks funny,
daddy, but I sure tried.”
Oh, with all that I’ve done wrong,
I must have done something right
To deserve a hug every morning,
And butterfly kisses at night.

Sweet sixteen today,
She’s looking like her momma
a little more everyday.
One part woman, the other part girl.
To perfume and makeup,
form ribbons and curls.
Trying her wings out
in a great big world. But I remember…

Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer.
Stickin’ little white flowers all up in her hair.
“You know how much I love you daddy,
But if you don’t mind,
I’m only going to kiss you on
the cheek this time.”
With all that I’ve done wrong
I must have done something right.
To deserve her love every morning,
And butterfly kisses at night.

All the precious time
Like the wind, the years go by
Precious butterfly
Spread your wings and fly

She’ll change her name today.
She’ll make a promise,
and I’ll give her away.
Standing in the bride room
just staring at her,
she asked me what I’m thinking,
and I said “I’m not sure,
I just feel like I’m losing my baby girl.”
Then she leaned over….and gave me….

Butterfly kisses, with her mama there
Sticking little flowers all up in her hair
“Walk me down the aisle, daddy,
it’s just about time.”
“Does my wedding gown look pretty, daddy?”
“Daddy, don’t cry.”
With all that I’ve done wrong,
I must have done something right
To deserve her love every morning,
And butterfly kisses
I couldn’t ask God for more, man, this is what love is
I know I’ve gotta let her go, but I’ll always remember
Every hug in the morning, and butterfly kisses…
Bob Carlisle & Randy Thomas

love-quotes-father-and-daughter

Daddy’s Girl
When you were young, pony-tailed,
face full of playful freckles,
were you a daddy’s girl?
I was. I still am.
Did you look to him for your security,
for love and attention,
for the understanding, and the patience you lacked
as a child?
My daddy was the center of my small world,
the focus of my affections,
the star that lit my life, shining bright.
Shining still in my heart.
The years have led me here,
weathered with maturity and responsibilities,
and I see more clearly now.
The hardships, burdens of love,
and all the small sacrifices he made for me,
for our family.
He created stability, a place to call home.
All the photographs I browse through
of a child long forgotten, scarcely remembered
smiling, so happy and so loved.
The mere thought of becoming that role model
is enough to send me cowering, afraid…
looking for guidance.
Turning to my father and my more for support,
advice, wise counsel, and for approval.
Grown up, I see differently now…
A new perspective of a man I have always known.
My heart is full, my emotions overpowering
just in the certainty of that bond.
He’s been there for me through all the conflicts
helping me over the rough, ragged stones of growing up.
My respect for him is unending,
faith is unbound, and love is unquestioning.
Even in the midst of all my imperfections, he is lenient,
ignoring the pitfalls, the downfalls, the shortcomings,
he just accepted me as I was, as I am.
The sheer purity of it leaves me awe-struck
and it lifts me up, it holds my head a little higher,
it keeps me in balance,
harmonizing with the world around me
beautifully, like an inspired masterpiece from the soul
of an honest man.
I am honored to know him, to love him, to be of him.
He’s my hero, and I am his daughter, his little girl.

Fathers are Wonderful People by Debora Waddell

father-and-daughter

Fathers are Wonderful People
Fathers are wonderful people
Too little understood,
And we do not sing their praises
As often as we should…

For, somehow, Father seems to be
The man who pays the bills,
While Mother binds up little hurts
And nurses all our ills…

And Father struggles daily
To live up to “HIS IMAGE”
As protector and provider
And “hero or the scrimmage”…

And perhaps that is the reason
We sometimes get the notion,
That Fathers are not subject
To the thing we call emotion,

But if you look inside Dad’s heart,
Where no one else can see
You’ll find he’s sentimental
And as “soft” as he can be…

But he’s so busy every day
In the grueling race of life,
He leaves the sentimental stuff
To his partner and his wife…

But Fathers are just WONDERFUL
In a million different ways,
And they merit loving compliments
And accolade of praise,

For the only reason Dad aspires
To fortune and success
Is to make the family proud of him
And to bring them happiness…

And like OUR HEAVENLY FATHER,
He’s a guardian and a guide,
Someone that we can count on
To be ALWAYS ON OUR SIDE.
Debora Waddell

A Little Girl Needs Daddy
A little girl needs Daddy
For many, many things:
Like holding her high off the ground
Where the sunlight sings!
Like being the deep music
That tells her all is right
When she awakens frantic with
The terrors of the night.

Like being the great mountain
That rises in her heart
And shows her how she might get home
When all else falls apart.

Like giving her the love
That is her sea and air,
So diving deep or soaring high
She’ll always find him there.
Author Unknown

A Father Is:
There in every memory
See his love and care
Strength and hands to count on
Freely he does share
Provider, toil so faithfully
To make our dreams come true
Give strong and tender discipline
Though it is hard to do
A Father is God’s chosen one
To lead the family
And point it to His will for life
Of love and harmony…
Sue Skeen

My Dad’s Hands by David Kettler

Fathers-Day

My Dad’s Hands
Bedtime came, we were settling down,
I was holding one of my lads.
As I grasped him so tight, I saw a strange sight:
My hands. . .they looked like my dad’s!
I remember them well, those old gnarled hooks,
there was always a cracked nail or two.
And thanks to a hammer that strayed from its mark,
his thumb was a beautiful blue!
They were rough, I remember, incredibly tough,
as strong as a carpenter’s vice.
But holding a scared little boy at night,
they seemed to me awfully nice!
The sight of those hands – how impressive it was
in the eyes of his little boy.
Other dads’ hands were cleaner, it seemed
(the effects of their office employ).
I gave little thought in my formative years
of the reason for Dad’s raspy mitts:
The love in the toil, the dirt and the oil,
rusty plumbing that gave those hands fits!
Thinking back, misty-eyed, and thinking ahead,
when one day my time is done.
The torch of love in my own wrinkled hands
will pass on to the hands of my son.
I don’t mind the bruises, the scars here and there
or the hammer that just seemed to slip.
I want most of all when my son takes my hand,
to feel that love lies in the grip.
David Kettler

Fathers Can Be Solitary Mountains
Fathers can be solitary mountains,
All their love rock-like, steep, and strong.
Though warm and caring, somehow they belong
Halfway home to mothers’ bubbling fountains.
Each of us needs love that knows no quarter,
Reminding us of bonds that cross a border,
Strengthening our sense of right and wrong.
Author Unknown

Grandfathers Are Fathers Who Are Grand
Grandfathers are fathers who are grand,
Restoring the sense that our most precious things
Are those that do not change much over time.
No love of childhood is more sublime,
Demanding little, giving on demand,
Far more inclined than most to grant the wings
Allowing us to reach enchanted lands.
Though grandfathers must serve as second fathers,
Helping out with young and restless hearts,
Each has all the patience wisdom brings,
Remembering our passions more than others,
Soothing us with old and well-honed arts.
Author Unknown

My Dad
When I was just a tiny kid,
Do you remember when,
The time you kissed my bruises,
Or cleaned by soiled chin?

You scrambled for the balls I hit,
(Short-winded more than not,)
Yet, every time we’d play a game,
You praised the “outs” I caught.

It seems like only yesterday,
You wiped away my tears,
And late at night I called your name,
To chase away my fears.

Though time has changed your handsome grip,
Your hair is snowy white,
You gait’s a little slower now,
Thick glasses help your sight.

Oh, do I thirst for years gone by,
To be that growing lad,
Re-living all of the memories,
Of growing with my dad.
Author Unknown

Father’s Day by Mary Frances Bogle

fathers-day-16

Father’s Day
Over the years
As we grow old,
We remember our father
So brave and bold.

In the garden,
Leaning on the plow,
He would listen to me;
I see him now.

He would give advice
And understand;
He was always there
To lend a hand.

God made fathers
Strong and firm,
For he knew our lives
Would have great concerns.

So he gave us fathers
To teach us to pray,
And guide our lives,
And show us the way.

So on his day
Let’s take the time
To say “Thanks, dad.
I’m glad you’re mine.”
Mary Frances Bogle

What Makes a Dad
God took the strength of a mountain,
The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of a summer sun,
The calm of a quiet sea,
The generous soul of nature,
The comforting arm of night,
The wisdom of the ages,
The power of the eagle’s flight,
The joy of a morning in spring,
The faith of a mustard seed,
The patience of eternity,
The depth of a family need,
Then God combined these qualities,
When there was nothing more to add,
He knew His masterpiece was complete,
And so, He called it … Dad
Author Unknown

A MOTHER’S PICTURE By Edmund Clarence Stedman

YoungMother

A MOTHER’S PICTURE By Edmund Clarence Stedman

She seemed an angel to our infant eyes!
Once, when the glorifying moon revealed
Her who at evening by our pillow kneeled —
Soft-voiced and golden-haired, from holy skies
Flown to her loves on wings of Paradise —
We looked to see the pinions half-concealed.
The Tuscan vines and olives will not yield
Her back to me, who loved her in this wise,
And since have little known her, but have grown
To see another mother, tenderly,
Watch over sleeping darlings of her own;
Perchance the years have changed her: yet alone
This picture lingers: still she seems to me
The fair, young Angel of my infancy.

BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE By George Bancroft Griffith

If you have a gray-haired mother
In the old home far away,
Sit you down and write the letter
You put off from day to day.
Don’t wait until her weary steps
Reach Heaven’s pearly gate,
But show her that you think of her,
Before it is too late.

If you have a tender message,
Or a loving word to say,
Don’t wait till you forget it,
But whisper it to-day.
Who knows what bitter memories
May haunt you if you wait?
So make your loved one happy
Before it is too late.

The tender word unspoken,
The letters never sent,
The long forgotten messages,
The wealth of love unspent;
For these some hearts are breaking,
For these some loved ones wait;
Show them that you care for them
Before it is too late.

MOTHER AND CHILD By William Gilmore Simms

mother-and-child

MOTHER AND CHILD By William Gilmore Simms

The wind blew wide the casement, and within —
It was the loveliest picture! — a sweet child
Lay in its mother’s arms, and drew its life,
In pauses, from the fountain,— the white round
Part shaded by loose tresses, soft and dark,
Concealing, but still showing, the fair realm
Of so much rapture, as green shadowing trees
With beauty shroud the brooklet. The red lips
Were parted, and the cheek upon the breast
Lay close, and, like the young leaf of the flower,
Wore the same color, rich and warm and fresh:
And such alone are beautiful. Its eye,
A full blue gem, most exquisitely set,
Looked archly on its world,— the little imp,
As if it knew even then that such a wreath
Were not for all; and with its playful hands
It drew aside the robe that hid its realm,
And peeped and laughed aloud, and so it laid
Its head upon the shrine of such pure joys,
And, laughing, slept. And while it slept, the tears
Of the sweet mother fell upon its cheek,—
Tears such as fall from April skies, and bring
The sunlight after. They were tears of joy;
And the true heart of that young mother then
Grew lighter, and she sang unconsciously
The silliest ballad-song that ever yet
Subdued the nursery’s voices, and brought sleep
To fold her sabbath wings above its couch.

MOTHER By Kathleen Norms, 1911

As years ago we carried to your knees
The tales and treasures of eventful days,
Knowing no deed too humble for your praise,
Nor any gift too trivial to please,
So still we bring, with older smiles and tears,
What gifts we may, to claim the old, dear right;
Your faith, beyond the silence and the night,
Your love still close and watching through the years.

A PETITION TO TIME: A Poem by Bryan Waller Procter 1787-1874

Bryan_Waller_ProcterTouch Us gently, Time.
Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently, as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream.
Humble voyagers are we:
Husband, wife, and children three
(One is lost, — an angel, fled
To the azure overhead).

Touch us gently, Time.
We’ve not proud or soaring wings;
Our ambition, our content,
Lies in simple things.
Humble voyagers are we,
O’er life’s dim, unsounded sea,
Seeking only some calm clime:
Touch us gently, gentle Time.

Bryan Waller Procter (Barry Cornwall)

GOODNESS AND GREATNESS.

Goodness is the greatest of all the virtues and dignities of the mind, being the character of the Deity.

Greatness is gained by a winding stair, and the power to do good is the true and lawful end of aspiring.

Lord Francis Bacon.

TRUE FREEDOM! A Poem by James Russell Lowell 1819-1891

Freedom-in-Chains

Men whose boast it is that we
Come of fathers brave and free,
If there breathe on earth a slave,
Are ye truly free and brave?
If ye do not feel the chain
When it works a brother’s pain,
Are ye not base slaves indeed,—
Slaves unworthy to be freed?

If ye hear without a blush
Deeds to make the roused blood rush
Like red lava through your veins
For your sisters now in chains,
Answer,— are ye fit to be
Mothers of the brave and free?

Is true freedom but to break
Fetters for our own dear sake,
And with leathern heart forget
That we owe mankind a debt?
No! true freedom is to share
All the chains our brothers wear,
And with heart and hand to be
Earnest to make others free.

They are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak?
They are slaves who will not choose
Hatred, scorning, and abuse,
Rather than in silence shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves who dare not be
In the right with two or three.

See also:
SCORN TO BE SLAVES by Dr. Joseph Warren 1741-1775
NO SLAVE BENEATH THE FLAG by George Lansing Taylor 1835-1903
Corruption In Politics and Society: Corrupters Of America! by John Hancock 1770
THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY by Oliver Wendell Holmes 1841-1935
THE GREAT AMERICAN REPUBLIC A CHRISTIAN STATE by Cardinal James Gibbons 1834-1921

THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY by Oliver Wendell Holmes 1841-1935

patriotism

What flower is this that greets the morn,
Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming brand
It kindles all the sunset land.
Oh, tell us what its name may be!
Is this the Flower of Liberty?

It is the Banner of the Free,
The starry flower of Liberty!

In savage Nature’s fair abode,
Its tender seed our fathers sowed;
The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud,
Its opening leaves were streaked with blood;
Till lo! earth’s tyrants shook to see

The full-blown Flower of Liberty!
Then hail the Banner of the Free,

The starry Flower of Liberty!
Behold Its streaming rays unite,
One mingling flood of braided light:
The red that fires the Southern rose,
With spotless white from Northern snows,
And, spangled o’er its azure, see,
The sister stars of Liberty.

Then hail the Banner of the Free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

The blades of heroes fence it round;
Where’er it springs is holy ground;
From tower and dome its glories spread;
It waves where lonely sentries tread;
It makes the land, as ocean, free;
And plants an empire on the sea!

Then hail the Banner of the Free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom’s flower,
Shall ever float on dome arid tower,
To all their heavenly colors true,
In blackening frost, or crimson dew;
And God love us as we love thee,
Thrice holy Flower of Liberty!

Then hail the Banner of the Free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

AMERICA! FAIREST OF FREEDOM’S DAUGHTERS by Jeremiah E. Rankin 1828-1903

FAIREST OF FREEDOM’S DAUGHTERS

Lady-LibertyRead at the dedication of the Bartholdi Statue (i.e. Statue of Liberty), New York Harbor, October 28, 1888.

Night’s diadem around the head,
The world upon thee gazing,
Beneath the eye of heroes dead
Thy queenly form up-raising,
Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,
Fairest of Freedom’s daughters!
Flash it against thine own blue sky,
Flash it across the waters!

Stretch up to thine own woman’s height,
Thine eye lit with truth’s lustre,
As though from God, Himself a-light,
Earth’s hopes around thee cluster.
The stars touch with thy forehead fair;
At them thy torch was lighted.
They grope to find where truth’s ways are,
The nations long benighted.

Back-To-Basics

Thou hast the van in earth’s proud march,
To thee all nations turning;
Thy torch against thine own blue arch,
In answer to their yearning!
Show them the pathway thou hast trod,
The chains which thou hast broken;
Teach them thy trust in man and God,
The watchwords thou hast spoken.

freedom

Not here is heard the Alp-herd’s horn,
The mountain stillness breaking;
Nor do we catch the roseate morn,
The Alpine summits waking.
Is Neckar’s vale no longer fair,
That German hearts are leaving?
Ah! German hearts from hearthstones tear,
In thy proud star believing.
Has Rhineland lost her grape’s perfume,
Her waters green and golden?
And do her castles no more bloom
With legends rare and olden?
Why leave, strong men, the Fatherland?
Why cross the cold blue ocean?
Truth’s torch in thine uplifted hand,
Ha! kindles their devotion.

God, home, and country be thy care,
Thou queen of all the ages!
Belting the earth is this one prayer:
Unspotted be thy pages!
Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,
Fairest of Freedom’s daughters!
Flash it against thine own blue sky.
Flash it across the waters!

See also:
A REPUBLIC! A LIVING BREATHING CONSTITUTION DEFINED! by Alphonse De Lamartine 1790-1869
The Wisdom and Love of God as Shown by His Creation by Noah Webster
Advice to Young People from Noah Webster Father of American Education
Divine Heredity

AMERICA! A Poem by Bayard Taylor, July 4, 1876

AMERICA! July 4, 1876 The American Centennial

American Centennial Exposition 1876

American Centennial Exposition 1876

Foreseen in the vision of sages,
Foretold when martyrs bled,
She was born of the longing of ages,
By the truth of the noble dead
And the faith of the living fed!
No blood in her lightest veins
Frets at remembered chains,
Nor shame of bondage has bowed her head.
In her form and features still
The unblenching Puritan will,
Cavalier honor, Huguenot grace,
The Quaker truth and sweetness,
And the strength of the danger-girdled race
Of Holland, blend in a proud completeness.

From the homes of all, where her being began,
She took what she gave to Man;
Justice, that knew no station,
Belief, as soul decreed,
Free air for aspiration,
Free force for independent deed!
She takes, but to give again,
As the sea returns the rivers in rain;
And gathers the chosen of her seed
From the hunted of every crown and creed.

American Centennial Flag 1876

Her Germany dwells by a gentler Rhine;
Her Ireland sees the old sunburst shine;
Her France pursues some dream divine;
Her Norway keeps his mountain pine;
Her Italy waits by the western brine;
And, broad-based under all,
Is planted England’s oaken-hearted mood,
As rich in fortitude
As e’er went worldward from the island-wall!
Fused in her candid light,
To one strong race all races here unite;
Tongues melt in hers, hereditary foemen
Forget their sword and slogan, kith and clan.
‘Twas glory, once to be a Roman:
She makes it glory, now, to be a man!

See also: 
THE AMERICAN FLAG! A Poem By Joseph Rodman Drake May 29, 1819
SONG OF THE SOLDIERS! A Poem By Charles G. Halpine 1861-1865
THE OATH! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872 
THE RISING, 1776! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872 
The Doctrine of Fascism, Fascism Defined by Benito Mussolini
Resistance to Tyrants is Obedience to God
The Wisdom and Love of God as Shown by His Creation by Noah Webster
Constitution of the United States and it’s Governmental Operations (In Plain English)
 

 

THE RISING, 1776! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872

TheRising1776

THE RISING, 1776! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872

Out of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,

The fife’s shrill note, the drum’s loud beat,
And through the wide land everywhere

The answering tread of hurrying feet;
While the first oath of Freedom’s gun,
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord, roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot arm of power, –
And swelled the discord of the hour.

Within its shade of elm and oak
The church of Berkeley Manor stood;

There Sunday found the rural folk,
And some esteemed of gentle blood.
In vain their feet with loitering tread
Passed ‘mid the graves where rank is naught;
All could not read the lesson taught
In that republic of the dead.

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,
The vale with peace and sunshine full
Where all the happy people walk,
Decked in their homespun flax and wool!
Where youth’s gay hats with blossoms bloom;
And every maid with simple art,
Wears on her breast, like her own heart,
A bud whose depths are all perfume;
While every garment’s gentle stir
Is breathing rose and lavender.

The pastor came; his snowy locks
Hallowed his brow of thought and care;
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.
The pastor rose; the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David’s song;
The text, a few short words of might—
“The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!”

He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;
Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake,
And, rising on his theme’s broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude,
Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And, lo! he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior’s guise.

A moment there was awful pause—
When Berkeley cried, “Cease, traitor! cease!
God’s temple i? the house of peace!”
The other shouted, “Nay, not so,
When God is with our righteous cause;
His holiest places then are ours,
His temples are our forts and towers,
That frown upon the tyrant foe;
In this, the dawn of Freedom’s day,
There is a time to fight and pray!”

And now before the open door—
The warrior priest had ordered so—
The enlisting trumpet’s sudden roar
Rang through the chapel, o’er and o’er,
Its long reverberating blow,
So loud and clear, it seemed the ear
Of dusty death must wake and hear.
And there the startling drum and fife
Fired the living with fiercer life;
While overhead, with wild increase,
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,

The great bell swung as ne’er before;
It seemed as it would never cease;
And every word its ardor flung
From off its jubilant iron tongue
Was, “War! War! War!”
“Who dares ?”—this was the patriot’s cry,
As striding from the desk he came—
“Come out with me, in Freedom’s name,
For her to live, for her to die?”
A hundred hands flung up reply,
A hundred voices answered, “I!”

See also:
THE AMERICAN FLAG! A Poem By Joseph Rodman Drake May 29, 1819
SONG OF THE SOLDIERS! A Poem By Charles G. Halpine 1861-1865
THE OATH! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872

THE OATH! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872

THE OATH! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872

ConstitutionDay

Ye freemen, how long will ye stifle
The vengeance that justice inspires?
With treason how long will ye trifle
And shame the proud names of your sires?
Out, out with the sword and the rifle,
In defence of your homes and your fires!
The flag of the old Revolution
Swear firmly to serve and uphold,
That no treasonous breath of pollution
Shall tarnish one star on its fold.
Swear!
And hark! the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
“Swear! Oh, swear!”

In this moment, who hesitates, barters
The rights which his forefathers won;
He forfeits all claim to the charters,
Transmitted from sire to son.
Kneel, kneel at the graves of our martyrs,
And swear on your sword and your gun;
Lay up your great oath on an altar
As huge and as strong as Stonehenge,
And then, with sword, fire, and halter,
Sweep down to the field of revenge,
Swear!
And hark! the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
“Swear! Oh, swear!”

By the tombs of your sires and brothers,
The host which the traitors have slain;
By the tears of your sisters and mothers,
In secret concealing their pain;
The grief which the heroine smothers
Consuming the heart and the brain;
By the sigh of the penniless widow,
By the sob of our orphans’ despair,
Where they sit in their sorrowful shadow,
Kneel, kneel, every freeman, and swear!
Swear!
And hark! the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
“Swear! Oh, swear!”

See also:
THE AMERICAN FLAG! A Poem By Joseph Rodman Drake May 29, 1819
SONG OF THE SOLDIERS! A Poem By Charles G. Halpine 1861-1865

SONG OF THE SOLDIERS! A Poem By Charles G. Halpine 1861-1865

 

prayingSoldier

COMRADES known in marches many,
Comrades, tried in dangers many,
Comrades, bound by memories many,
Brothers let us be.
Wounds or sickness may divide us,
Marching orders may divide us,
But whatever fate betide us,
Brothers of the heart are we.

Comrades, known by faith the clearest,
Tried when death was near and nearest,
Bound we are by ties the dearest,
Brothers evermore to be.
And, if spared, and growing older,
Shoulder still in line with shoulder,
And with hearts no thrill the colder,
Brothers ever we shall be.

By communion of the banner, —
Crimson, white, and starry banner, —
By the baptism of the banner,
Children of one Church are we.
Creed nor faction can divide us,
Race nor language can divide us.
Still, whatever fate betide us,
Children of the flag are we.

My Poem (read after The Love Light)

My Poem

Celtic Woman – The Voice

Celtic Woman – A New Journey – The Prayer

God and Jesus, I thank you,
For your mercy and your grace,
I worship and I praise you,
For everything you’ve done,
And I thank you for these poems.
You’re both so great and kind,
That in this wretched heart of mine,
A dwelling place you’d find.
You’re both so generous, Wondrous,
Glorious and sweet.
It’s more than I can see or know,
Just what in me is worth,
The love and attention you both show,
That love for which I thirst.
And for so very long I searched.
I had not the smallest knowledge,
It was with me all my life,
I’m sorry that I took so long to see,
That you both are here with me.
You stood by my side through the years,
I gave you so much strife.
Yet with love you both forgave me,
When I came to you in tears.
I will always be so very, very grateful,
For your love and tenderness that I feel within,
And for the joy you gave me,
When you took away my sin.
For that grace and mercy,
I want to give my all,
Please help me not to murmur or complain,
Please also forgive me when I fall.
Help me be aware,
For me the lamb was slain,
Please help me not to do a thing,
To cause him shame or pain.
And in my struggles, help me fight,
To always choose the right.
Now for you I live each day,
Please hear my humble cry,
In this my heart I pray, Amen.

R. Davis

Note: I wrote this one in response to the Lord giving me The Love Light