'The true Soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because He loves what is behind him.' -G. K. Chesterton

11 April 2010

Sunday Kipling

I've been sick and bust all at the same time. Haven't had a chance to sit down and pound out some posts though I have tried to keep up with the news.
Of particular note is the passing of President Lech Kaczynski of Poland. Kaczynski was killed enroute to the Katyn Forest where 4000 Polish Army officers and cadets were killed in 1940 by the NKVD. He was deeply involved in the Solidarity movement though later had a falling out with Lech Walesa. He was a strong supporter of the U.S., at least he was prior to being stabbed in the back by obama. He forged close ties to Georgia and The Czech Republic and was a leading voice for their inclusion in NATO. He was also suspicious of the European Union and took steps to maintain Poland's independence, a source of irritation to Germany and France. Always a good thing.
Poland is a nation in mourning. From what i can tell Kaczynski was a good President and a voice of reason in an otherwise sinking and socialist Europe. I believe he will be missed a great deal.
In solidarity for our brothers and sisters in Poland I dedicate this week's Sunday Kipling and include a prayer that their country and people will find a way to endure this tragedy.

May God bless the Polish People.


The King

"Farewell, Romance!" the Cave-men said;
"With bone well carved He went away,
Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
And jasper tips the spear to-day.
Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,
And He with these. Farewell, Romance!"

"Farewell, Romance!" the Lake-folk sighed;
"We lift the weight of flatling years;
The caverns of the mountain-side
Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.
Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,
Guard ye his rest. Romance, farewell!"

"Farewell, Romance!" the Soldier spoke;
"By sleight of sword we may not win,
But scuffle 'mid uncleanly smoke
Of arquebus and culverin.
Honour is lost, and none may tell
Who paid good blows. Romance, farewell!"

"Farewell, Romance!" the Traders cried;
"Our keels have lain with every sea;
The dull-returning wind and tide
Heave up the wharf where we would be;
The known and noted breezes swell
Our trudging sails. Romance, farewell!"

"Good-bye, Romance!" the Skipper said;
"He vanished with the coal we burn.
Our dial marks full-steam ahead,
Our speed is timed to half a turn.
Sure as the ferried barge we ply
'Twixt port and port. Romance, good-bye!"

"Romance!" the season-tickets mourn,
"He never ran to catch His train,
But passed with coach and guard and horn --
And left the local -- late again!"
Confound Romance!... And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.

His hand was on the lever laid,
His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,
His whistle waked the snowbound grade,
His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;
By dock and deep and mine and mill
The Boy-god reckless laboured still!

Robed, crowned and throned, He wove His spell,
Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,
With unconsidered miracle,
Hedged in a backward-gazing world;
Then taught His chosen bard to say:
"Our King was with us -- yesterday!"

No comments: