The miners lost because they had only the constitution. The other side had bayonets. In the end, bayonets always win.
quote by Mother Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The constitution is paper, bayonets are steel.
Bayonet Song
Fire away, fire away, boys must have their play,
There'll be hard work yet
Before sunset:
But what of the day when the boys have had their play?
When the boys have played, why then,
Aha!
'Twill be time for the men,
Hurrah!
And the bayonet!
But, men, as we've nothing to do till then,
And the match is on out there,
I think you and I may as well stand by
And see that the game goes fair.
No drummer! no tambourettes,
The earth is our drum wherever we come,
Bayonets, bayonets, bayonets, bayonets,
Bayonets, bayonets, bayonets, bayonets,
Where's the drumstick that ever could beat,
Where's the drumhead that ever could drum,
Like the mighty foot of our thousand feet,
And the earth that is dumb till we come and come?
Come and come and come and come
Bayonets, bayonets, bayonets, bayonets.
'Love your enemy'-yes, 'tis the Briton's grace!
I love him so well that I'd see his face.
Yon little ninepins all in a row,
How can I tell if I love 'em or no?
So hurrah, lads, up we go!
Here's to our nearer meeting,
And if when we come within greeting
I see my own special foe,
I'll leave him to Tom or John,
And find my work further on,
And perhaps he and I will shake hands by and bye
Side by side as we lie
(To-night on the gory slope of the hill
As the dew-tears drop from the sky above
At the silent thought
Of the friends whom we love
Better still),
And wait for the surgeon's cart
That's always coming and never comes,
And when a couple of bearers pass
I'll give him my turn,
Tho' the flesh-wounds smart,
And the bone-wounds burn,
And the life-tide's running dry
Because he's my enemy.
But that's when I've spiked up John's and Tom's
And Rosie's and Poll's and Marjorie's
And little Jack's and todlin May's
And the victory's won and the bloody day's
Done, and of flesh that is grass
Along the braes the bloody hay's
Made, that is made, hurrah!
With the bayonet.
For till you show me the Sacred Word
I'm for Peter and his good sword,
Only I hope if we'd drilled him here
He'd not have missed the head for the ear.
Gods, I'd give a Life's delights
To have been there that night of nights,
With ten such men as I see here now,
When they spat their sin on the Sinless Brow
And struck Him without let,-
And have heard the ten steels clash at my call
And seen the ten steels flash in the hall
As we did them all up to the wall,
High Priest, low Priest, Romans and all,
Great and small up to the wall,
Up to the wall with the bayonet.
I would keep or lose my right hand
By the love of every man here
For the dear native land.
There is not a man here this day
Of whom come what come can
I could speak with an accent of scorn.
Who feels his courage grow colder
At sight of the foe,
Whose conscience is bolder
Because we are shoulder to shoulder,
Who goes up the hill because we are men
And not because he is man,
He shall serve his country yet
But not with the bayonet.
Well done-I like your eyes,
Neither sunrise
Nor sunset.
Well done-I know the grips
That will tell to barrel and stock
What the beard hides on the lips:
No strain on the rein, no tug on the slips.
No drummer! no tambourettes!
The earth is our drum wherever we come,
Bayonets, bayonets, bayonets, bayonets,
Bayonets, bayonets, bayonets, bayonets,
Where's the drumstick that ever could beat,
Where's the drumhead that ever could drum,
Like the mighty foot of our thousand feet,
And the earth that is dumb till we come and come?
Till we come and come and come and come,
Bayonets, bayonets, bayonets, bayonets!
You are not dogs but Lions, and who
Holds Lions in leash? Hurrah,
My Lions! with just such a pack
I'd hunt down the gods of Olympus! Alack,
This mount is all an Olympus. Up there
You see the bird-popping goddikins-ten
To one I'll warrant you-bah!
What then?
Who cares while theirs is the ten to the one
And ours is the one to the ten?
Were't one to twenty which of us would shirk
The odds or the glory? You see
How the land lies?
This fox-cover up the long rise,
Then fifty paces of open, and then the breast-work.
Scatter the pack in cover, make them cast wide,
From wood-side to wood-side.
Go in like hounds and come out
At the top like men and lions-full swing
Up the wood, but when it's grey-blue
Overhead come together like men.
A halt for breath,
Slow-time and still as death
To the covert-edge, and then
The rush and the roar and the spring!
Hunt's up, my Lions, hie in, hurrah!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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You can do anything with bayonets except sit on them.
quote by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spirit Whose Work Is Done
SPIRIT whose work is done! spirit of dreadful hours!
Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets;
Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfaltering
pressing;)
Spirit of many a solemn day, and many a savage scene! Electric
spirit!
That with muttering voice, through the war now closed, like a
tireless phantom flitted,
Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the
drum;
--Now, as the sound of the drum, hollow and harsh to the last,
reverberates round me;
As your ranks, your immortal ranks, return, return from the battles;
While the muskets of the young men yet lean over their shoulders; 10
While I look on the bayonets bristling over their shoulders;
While those slanted bayonets, whole forests of them, appearing in the
distance, approach and pass on, returning homeward,
Moving with steady motion, swaying to and fro, to the right and left,
Evenly, lightly rising and falling, as the steps keep time;
--Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death
next day;
Touch my mouth, ere you depart--press my lips close!
Leave me your pulses of rage! bequeath them to me! fill me with
currents convulsive!
Let them scorch and blister out of my chants, when you are gone;
Let them identify you to the future, in these songs.
poem by Walt Whitman
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A man may build himself a throne of bayonets, but he can't sit on it.
quote by William Ralph Inge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A lasting order cannot be established by bayonets.
quote by Ludwig von Mises
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A revolution is an idea which has found its bayonets.
quote by Napoleon Bonaparte
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Four hostile newspapers are more to be feared than a thousand bayonets.
The Fallen Subaltern
The starshells float above, the bayonets glisten;
We bear our fallen friend without a sound;
Below the waiting legions lie and listen
To us, who march upon their burial-ground.
Wound in the flag of England, here we lay him;
The guns will flash and thunder o’er the grave;
What other winding sheet should now array him,
What other music should salute the brave?
As goes the Sun-god in his chariot glorious,
When all his golden banners are unfurled,
So goes the soldier, fallen but victorious,
And leaves behind a twilight in the world.
And those who come this way, in days hereafter,
Will know that here a boy for England fell,
Who looked at danger with the eyes of laughter,
And on the charge his days were ended well.
One last salute; the bayonets clash and glisten;
With arms reversed we go without a sound:
One more has joined the men who lie and listen
To us, who march upon their burial-ground.
poem by Herbert Asquith
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You can build a throne with bayonets, but you can't sit on it for long.
quote by Boris Nikolayevich Yeltsin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Four hostile newspapers are more to be feared than a thousand bayonets.
quote by Napoleon Bonaparte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunset Hill
(DickKellyMosleyRotheryTrewavas)
[The music for this song later became "The King Of Sunset Town"]
Everything to decide
It's time I came up with some answers before I can carry on
It's time I made my mind up before we can go along
And I thought it was so simple
And I knew that it could be so fine
I know that the places that everything comes
Rose beds scattered across the lawn
Like the squares at Waterloo
With the bayonets of thorns repelling
Small children in search of lost tennis balls
Seeing everything and giving their all
I used to be scared of heights
I used to get dizzy
I never felt safe with my feet on the ground
They said that up there the air would be clearer
They said more space and more room to breathe
Everything to the side
I knew that something would happen
It's better off than being alive
I knew the standards decline
I knew that we had to decide
All the places that all we'd ever seen
And the place that we thought about
And the road that you travel has never been seen
Rose beds scattered across the lawn
Like the squares of Waterloo
With the bayonets of thorns repelling
Small children in search of lost tennis balls
Giving everything and giving it all
I used to think everything was coming up roses
But I couldn't see the weeds that entangled my feet
I couldn't see the trees
'Cos my forest was burning
I couldn't see the bridges the fire in my eyes
They sold me the view from the hill
They sold me the view from the hill
They said that up there the air would be clearer
They said more space and more room to breathe
I used to be scared of heights
I used to get dizzy
They sold me t
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking At The Soldiers
“Mother, the trumpets are sounding to-day,
And the soldiers go by in their gallant array!
Their horses prance gaily, their banners float free,
Come, come to the window, dear mother, with me.
“Do you see how their bayonets gleam in the sun,
And their soldier-plumes nod, as they slowly march on?
And look to the regular tread of their feet!
Keeping time to the sound of the kettle-drum's beat.
“This, mother, you know, is a glorious day,
And Americans all should be joyous and gay;
For the Fourth of July saw our country set free;
But you look not delighted, dear mother, like me!”
“No, love; for that shining and brilliant display,
To me only tells of war's fearful array;
And I know that those bayonets, flashing so bright,
Were made in man's blood to be spoil'd of their light.
“And the music that swells up so sweet to the ear,
In a long gush of melody, joyous and clear,
Just as freely would pour out its wild thrilling flood,
To stir up men's hearts to the shedding of blood!
“Our country, my boy, as you tell me, is free,
But even that thought brings a sadness to me;
For less guilt would be hers, were her own fetter'd hand
Unable to loosen her slaves from their band.
“We joy that our country's light bonds have been broke,
But her sons wear, by thousands, a life-crushing yoke;
And yon bayonets, dear, would be sheathed in their breast,
Should they fling off the shackles that round them are prest.
“Even ‘midst these triumphant rejoicings, to-day,
The slave-mother weeps for her babes, torn away,
'Midst the echoing burst of these shouts, to be sold,
Human forms as they are, for a pittance of gold!
“Can you wonder then, love, that your mother is sad,
Though yon show is so gay, and the crowd is so glad?
Or will not my boy turn with me from the sight,
To think of those slaves sunk in sorrow and night?”
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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One Simple Dream
Along the road, the trees
Stand like soldiers at ease
Branches trudge like bayonets
I walk on underneath
The bracing sky
Though my eyes are naked
Collecting stars
From the depth of the universe
There is my dream
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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If
The guns turn into bouquet of
Flowers;
The tanks-
Cream-rolls;
The mortars, shells-
Chocolates,
The bayonets-
Ice-creams
Battlefield-
Cake;
Politicians' hearts-
Roses...
Country-
Only one.
War?
Never!
The poet dreams..........
And will be dreaming
Ever!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Guardsmen
these poems are guardsmen
with lances and bayonets
to keep this oft wayward mind
in line and follow what it has itself
thought to be the best method
to achieving poetic justice and
perhaps eminence
what a puzzle when the brain finds
its own rules so hard to keep up with
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Prison Bars
Though Prison Bars my Freedom mars,
and Glittering Bayonets Guard me round,
My Rebel soul Scorns such Control,
and Dwells with Friends on Southern Ground.
My Heart is Light, and Spirits Bright,
and Hope, with Her Enchanting Wand,
Gives Visions Fair: and Free as Air,
I Roam at Will in Dixie's Land.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Mother Of A Miners Child
She is my flower
And she blooms for the one who loves her best
The miners stop to watch as she walks
They know her love is not for sale
She will never fail me cause I know
I watch her grow
And the mother of a miners child
Waits for me beside the kitchen door
She is my light
In this place where the darkness never ends
Shell guide me where the tunnels twist and bend
Shes the only one who listens when I tell her
I got less than I can spend
She knows the pace
Oh mother of a miners child
Was away the coal dust from my face
When the night shifts done
Shell be waiting by the table when I come
Searchin for another dream to chase
Oh mother of a miners child
I know that you still think about the day
When well be movin on
Remember dear old daddy and
The promise that I made to carry on
Sometimes I smile
In the cage where the cables softly hum
Id curse that old straw boss to the bone
But the mother of a miners child
Is waiting for her paycheck to come home
Come saturday
And he is just a miners boy
I hope that he will find a better way
She is my flower
And she blooms for the one who loves her best
The miners stop to watch as she walks
They know her love is not for sale
She will never fail me cause I know
I watch her grow
And the mother of a miners child
Waits for me beside the kitchen door
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Attack at Dawn
‘At every cost,’ they said, ‘it must be done.’
They told us in the early afternoon.
We sit and wait the coming of the sun
We sit in groups, — grey groups that watch the moon.
We stretch our legs and murmur half in sleep
And touch the tips of bayonets and yarn.
Our hands are cold. They strangely grope and creep,
Tugging at ends of straps. We wait the dawn!
Some men come stumbling past in single file.
And scrape the trench’s side and scatter sand.
They trip and curse and go. Perhaps we smile.
We wait the dawn! … The dawn is close at hand!
A gentle rustling runs along the line.
‘At every cost,’ they said, ‘it must be done.’
A hundred eyes are staring for the sign.
It’s coming! Look! … Our God’s own laughing sun!
poem by Leon Gellert
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Progressivism is the cancer in America and it is eating our Constitution, and it was designed to eat the Constitution, to progress past the Constitution.
quote by Glenn Beck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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