That we may wander o’er this ****** field To book our dead, and then to bury them
-Henry V, IV.vii.75-76
Some say this day began As a memorial to the Confederate dead Some say this day began As a memorial to the Union dead We only know that now it is a memorial for those Who died for causes far beyond themselves
The glory of our soldiers is in the orphans they fed The huts they helped repair, the ponchos they gave To the shivering cold, reassurance to the terrified Poor comforts to the bombed-out and the dying
The glory of our soldiers Is not in some strident Man of Destiny Bellowing fancy words from a prompter screen But in hungry men who gave their C-rats away
Before they died in some ****** ****** ditch
In their honor, then
Let us quietly work in causes beyond ourselves And risk being made into sacraments