A Patriotic Creed

To serve my country day by day
At any humble post I may;
To honor and respect her flag,
To live the traits of which I brag;
To be American in deed
As well as in my printed creed.
To stand for truth and honest toil,
To till my little patch of soil,
And keep in mind the debt I owe
To them who died that I might know
My country, prosperous and free,
And passed this heritage to me.
I always must in trouble's hour
Be guided by the men in power;
For God and country I must live,
My best for God and country give;
No act of mine that men may scan
Must shame the name American.
To do my best and play my part,
American in mind and heart;
To serve the flag and bravely stand
To guard the glory of my land;
To be American in deed:
God grant me strength to keep this creed!
Edgar Guest

 

 

THE THINGS THAT MAKE A SOLDIER GREAT
Edgar Guest

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.

 

 

The Silent Ranks

I wear no uniforms, no blues or army greens. But I am in the military
in the ranks rarely seen. I have no rank upon my shoulders. Salutes I
do not give. But the military world is the place where I live.
I'm not in the chain of command, orders I do not get. But my husband
is the one who does, this I can not forget. I'm not the one who fires
the weapon, who puts my life on the line. But my job is just as
tough. I'm the one that's left behind.
My husband is a patriot, a brave and prideful man. and the call to
serve his country not all can understand. Behind the lines I see the
things needed to keep this country free. My husband makes the
sacrifice, but so do our kids and me.
I love the man I married. Soldiering is his life. But I stand among
the silent ranks known as the Military Wife.
--Author Unknown




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