In time of trouble,
And no more;
For when war is over
And all things righted,
God is neglected –
The old soldier slighted.
Similar Posts
O Death, O Death, rock me asleep,
Let pass my weary guiltless ghostOut of my careful breast.Toll on, thou passing bell;Ring out my doleful knell;Thy sound my death abroad will tell,For I must die,There is no remedy.My pains, my pains, who can express?Alas, they are so strong!My dolours will not suffer strengthMy life for to prolong.Toll on, thou passing bell;Ring out my…
O WHAT a plague is love!
She will inconstant prove,I greatly fear it.She so torments my mindThat my strength faileth,And wavers with the windAs a ship saileth.Please her the best I may,She loves still to gainsay;Alack and well-a-day!Phillada flouts me.At the fair yesterdayShe did pass by me;She look’d another wayAnd would not spy me:I woo’d her for to dine,But could not…
QUHEN Flora had o’erfret the firth
Quhen merle and mavis singis with mirthSweet melling in the shawis sheen;Quhen all luvaris rejoicit beneAnd most desirous of their prey,I heard a lusty luvar mene–‘I luve, but I dare nocht assay!’‘Strong are the pains I daily prove,But yet with patience I sustene,I am so fetterit with the luveOnly of my lady sheen,Quhilk for her…
LOVE wing’d my Hopes and taught me how to fly
For true pleasureLives in measure,Which if men forsake,Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take.But my vain Hopes, proud of their new-taught flight,Enamour’d sought to woo the sun’s fair light,Whose rich brightnessMoved their lightnessTo aspire so highThat all scorch’d and consumed with fire now drown’d in woe they lie.And none but Love their…
I have a gentil cock
he doth me risen earlymy matins for to stayI have a gentil cockcomen he is of greathis comb is of red coralhis tail is of jetI have a gentil cockcomen he is of kindhis comb is of red sorrelhis tail is of indehis legs be of azureso gentil and so smallhis spurs are of silver…
‘WHY does your brand sae drop wi’ blude,
Why does your brand sae drop wi’ blude,And why sae sad gang ye, O?’‘O I hae kill’d my hawk sae gude,Mither, mither;O I hae kill’d my hawk sae gude,And I had nae mair but he, O.’‘Your hawk’s blude was never sae red,Edward, Edward;Your hawk’s blude was never sae red,My dear son, I tell thee, O.’‘O…
In time of trouble,
And no more;
For when war is over
And all things righted,
God is neglected –
The old soldier slighted.
Similar Posts
The little Man, and tiny Maid,
Who see them in the tangled grassThe Gnomes and Brownies, as they pass,Who hear the Sprites from Elf-land callGo, frolic with these Brownies small,And join these merry sporting Elves,But ever be your own sweet selves.The big bright Moon hung high and round,In a densely darkened sky;The tall pines swayed, and mocked, and groaned;The mountains grew…
At liberty I sit and see
Whipp’d with the whip that scourged me:And now they ban that they were born.I see them sit full soberlyAnd think their earnest looks to hide;Now, in themselves, they cannot spyThat they or this in me have spied.I see them sitting all alone,Marking the steps, each word and look;And now they tread where I have gone,The…
Why stands she near the auction stand,
What brings her to this dismal place,Why stands she weeping there?Why does she raise that bitter cry?Why hangs her head with shame,As now the auctioneer’s rough voice,So rudely calls her name?But see! she grasps a manly hand,And in a voice so low,As scarcely to be heard, she says,‘My brother, must I go?’A moment’s pause: then…
Frankie and Johnnie were lovers,
They swore to be true to each other,As true as the stars above;He was her man, but he done her wrong.Frankie was a good woman,As everybody knows,Gave her man a hundred dollars,To get him a suit of clothes;He was her man, but he done her wrong.Frankie and Johnnie went walking,Johnnie in his bran’ new suit,‘Oh,…
…
A wat a’ man to bed were gone,Clark Sanders came to Margret’s window,With mony a sad sigh and groan.‘Are ye sleeping, Margret,’ he says,‘Or are ye waking, presentlie?Give me my faith and trouthe again,A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.’‘Your faith and trouth ye’s never get,Nor our trew love shall never twain,Till ye come with…
The marching armies of the past
Are sleeping now in quiet restBeneath the Southern rains.The bugle call is now in vainTo rouse them from their bed;To arms they’ll never march again-They are sleeping with the dead.No more will Shiloh’s plains be stainedWith blood our heroes shed,Nor Chancellorsville resound againTo our noble warriors’ tread.For them no more shall reveilleSound at the break…