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قراءة كتاب Our Boys, and Other Poems
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 4
class="stanza">Now the hands of the clock we can turn ahead,
We can fool the people and feel content;
But the thing that worries me night and day,
And on which my entire thought is bent
Is, how can we fool that rooster?
A Wreath Of Flowers
Written for Decoration Day, May 30, 1918.
I wove me a wreath of flowers
To place in memories hall,
In honor of the brave and fearless men
Who had answered our country's call.
The men who had answered, and fought, and died
For the cause of freedom, our country's pride!
To place in memories hall,
In honor of the brave and fearless men
Who had answered our country's call.
The men who had answered, and fought, and died
For the cause of freedom, our country's pride!
I wove me a wreath of flowers
With many a sigh and tear,
As a tribute to all the good and true
Who were given few honors here.
The man of humble piety
Who lived and died in obscurity.
With many a sigh and tear,
As a tribute to all the good and true
Who were given few honors here.
The man of humble piety
Who lived and died in obscurity.
A wreath of flowers, a little thing
For flowers wither and fade;
But the fragrance they shed is not soon forgot
By me, who the wreath has made.
So the virtues of those who have gone before,
Will always be treasured in memory's store.
For flowers wither and fade;
But the fragrance they shed is not soon forgot
By me, who the wreath has made.
So the virtues of those who have gone before,
Will always be treasured in memory's store.
EPITAPH
Our loved ones lay them down to sleep
And leave us here to grieve and mourn,
While we, our silent watches keep,
O'er their low graves whence they are bourne.
Some heroes are in battle slain,
Their names are honored far and near,
While others die on beds of pain
And no sad mourner sheds a tear.
And leave us here to grieve and mourn,
While we, our silent watches keep,
O'er their low graves whence they are bourne.
Some heroes are in battle slain,
Their names are honored far and near,
While others die on beds of pain
And no sad mourner sheds a tear.
This day we honor each and all
Whose soul has left its temporal case;
And be he great, or be he small,
We'll reverence his resting place.
Whose soul has left its temporal case;
And be he great, or be he small,
We'll reverence his resting place.
Part Second
The poems and story of Masata in part second of this book were written during the last month of the young Author's life.
He was taken to the Spirit Land, January 29, 1919.
The Lily of the Valley
I've a lily of the Valley
That I'm keeping here for you;
I care for and protect it,
And water it with dew.
It is a living emblem
Of the wonderful domain,
Where all is pure and love-like,
And where we feel no pain.
That I'm keeping here for you;
I care for and protect it,
And water it with dew.
It is a living emblem
Of the wonderful domain,
Where all is pure and love-like,
And where we feel no pain.