<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408954" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Vanguard [11]</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They say, in all kindness, I’m out of the hunt—<br>Too old and too deaf to be sent to the Front.<br>A scribbler of stories, a maker of songs,<br>To the fireside and armchair my valour belongs!<br>Yet in campaigns all hopeless, in bitterest strife,<br>I have been at the Front all the days of my life. <br>Oh, your girl feels a princess, your people are proud,<br>As you march down the street, ’midst the cheers of the crowd;<br>And the Nation’s behind you and cloudless your sky,<br>And you come back to Honour, or gloriously die;<br>While for each thing that brightens, and each thing that cheers,<br>I have starved in the trenches these forty long years. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The cities were silent, the people were glum,<br>No sound of a bugle, no tap of a drum;<br>Our enemies mighty and Parliaments sour,<br>Our Land’s lovers few, and no Man of the Hour.<br>The Girl turned her nose up (maybe ’twas before),<br>And they voted us Cracked when we marched to the war. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our army was small and ’twas scattered afar,<br>And our headquarters down where the Poor People are.<br>But I knew the great hearts of the Jims and the Bills,<br>And we signalled by wireless as old as the hills.<br>There were songs that could reach to our furthermost wing,<br>And Sorrow and Poverty taught me to sing. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our War Hymn the war hymn that ever prevails—<br>Oh, we sang it of old when we marched from Marseilles!<br>And our army traditions are cherished with pride<br>In streets and in woods where we triumphed, or died;<br>Where, rebel or loyal, by farmhouse and town,<br>The chorus waxed faint as they volleyed us down. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No V.C. comes to us, no rest nor release,<br>Though hardest of all is this fighting in peace.<br>Small honour to wife or to daughter or son,<br>Though noblest of all are the deeds that are done.<br>But we never are conquered, we never can die,<br>For we live through the ages, my army and I!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408954" data-title="The Vanguard [11] de Henry Lawson" data-description="They say, in all kindness, I’m out of the hunt— Too old and too deaf to be sent to the Front. A scribbler of stories, a maker of songs, To the fireside and armchair my valour belongs! Yet in campaigns all hopeless, in bitterest strife, I have ..."></div> </div> </div>

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