Memorial Day Kipling

Tomorrow is Memorial Day. It is a day fraught with meaning for all those who love liberty and the men and women who have given their last true measure of devotion that we may enjoy it's blessings. America is still ours, the sons and daughters of those who died to give us the chance to live free. May we never forget nor lay down the burdens we carry in their names. America belongs not to the weak and feckless. Not to the callow and vain. Not to those who corrupt and lie. It belongs to us, Free Americans All. We will never surrender what has been so dearly bought with the precious blood of our valiant dead. Not so long as one brave soul still lives and breathes to strive with the usurping evil. So many of our Brothers and Sisters are gone but we remember and we will never allow the enemy to desecrate their honored rest.

I miss them all and I am ever humbled by their service. I am unworthy. I will never forget nor surrender. That they deemed me, all of us, worth their sacrifice lends my spirit wings and I will soar or perish in the flight.

Six

Update: Daniel Greenfield at Sultan Knish may have said it better than anyone. Certainly better than I could. 


Memories

THOUGH all the Dead were all forgot 
        And razed were every tomb,
The Worm-the Worm that dieth not 
        Compels Us to our doom.
Though all which once was England stands 
        Subservient to Our will,
The Dead of whom we washed Our hands, 
        They have observance still.

We laid no finger to Their load. 
        We multiplied Their woes. 
We used Their dearly-opened road 
         To traffic with Their foes:
And yet to Them men turn their eyes, 
         To Them are vows renewed
Of Faith, Obedience, Sacrifice, 
         Honour and Fortitude!

Which things must perish. But Our hour 
        Comes not by staves or swords
So much as, subtly, through the power 
        Of small corroding words.
No need to make the plot more plain 
         By any open thrust;
But-see Their memory is slain 
          Long ere Their bones are dust! 

Wisely, but yearly, filch some wreath-
        Lay some proud rite aside-
And daily tarnish with Our breath 
        The ends for which They died. 
Distract, deride, decry, confuse-
        (Or-if it serves Us-pray!) 
So presently We break the use 
        And meaning of Their day!