“At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.”
The far horizon…
There’s An Old Stone Church In Howfen Town..
No lonely, boundless shifting sands for them the eye will see, no mighty granite edifice sinking slowly in a sandy sea. An English garden, an old stone church and quiet solitude, is where we come to spend some time in silent gratitude.
And standing there, the air so still, the ancient oaks around, beyond the wall across the brook, the rolling hills abound. A cuckoo calls, the swallows flit, the church bell chimes to seven, I close my eyes in silent prayer, a quiet requiem …
… and that old church, it stands there still, it’s there for all to see, and from afar o’er Texas plains that garden beckons me…
“At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.”
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
********************
“So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.
Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none. When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision.
When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.”
[The buglers of The United States Army Band “Pershing’s Own” perform over 5000 missions a year in Arlington National Cemetery in Arlington, VA.Featured here are SSG Jesse Tubb (summer) and SSG Drew Fremder (winter)]
H/T Gerard Venderleun and his American Digest …
