The Little Homes
We have heard the cheering, brothers,
We have heard the martial peal;
We have seen the soldiers marching
And the glint of sun and steel.
We have heard the songs, the shouting;
But, while forth the soldier roams,
Who has heard the weeping, brothers,
In the Little Homes?
We have seen the gay processions
And the careless, laughing crowds.;
We have seen the banners waving
Out against the peaceful clouds;
Yet, while colors proudly flutter
Over noble spires and domes,
Who has seen the mourning, brothers,
In the Little Homes?
From the Little Homes that nestle
Where the smiling fields sweep wide,
From the Little Homes that huddle
In the city, side by side,
They have called the eager fighters
Men who went with smiles and cheers;
Pride of wives and pride of mothers,
Choking back the tears!
Women of the little homesteads,
Women of the city slums,
They are waiting, ever waiting;
And the sound of muffled drums
In some stricken Home is echoed,
Where grey Grief is guest to-day.
And to-morrow? Nay, the others
Still must wait - and pray.
What the Little Homes shall suffer,
What the Little Homes shall pay
Must be more than sturdy fighters,
More than women's grief to-day.
In the years that follow after,
Be our battles won or lost,
In the Little Homes, my brothers,
They shall pay the cost.
They shall pay the cost of glory,
They shall pay the price of peace,
Years and many long years after
All the sounds of battle cease.
When the sword is sheathed - or broken
When the battle flag is furled,
Still the Little Homes must suffer
Over all the World.
Have you seen the old grey mothers
Smiling to the ringing cheers?
Have you seen the young wives striving
Bravely to hold back the tears?
Have you seen the young girl marching
By her soldier-lover's side?
Have you, seen our country's women
All aglow with pride?
Then, shall we think shame, my brothers,
To give thanks upon our knees
That the land we love should hold them
Wives and mothers such as these?
Women who still hide their sorrow
As their soldiers march away,
Turning brave and steadfast faces
To the light of day?
Oh, the Little Homes are Cheerful
Little Homes that know no pride
But the pride of sacrificing
Loved ones to the battle tide!
They are many, many brothers,
And their sacrifice is great.
Shrines are they and sacred places,
Where the women wait.
Aye, the Little Homes are holy
At the closing of the day,
When young wives must face their sorrow,
When grey mothers kneel to pray,
Facing, all alone, dread visions
Of the land the soldier roams,
Then God heed the sobbing, brothers,
In the Little Homes.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
Illiteracy
some homes breed love
some homes breed hatred
some homes breed moderation
some homes breed extremes
some homes breed worldliness
some homes breed racism
some homes breed kindness
somehomes breed religious bigotry
throw in illiteracy and any country would be bloom to bits
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Joy & Sorrow
Oh girl we are the same
We are young and lost and so afraid
There? s no cure for the pain
No shelter from the rain
All our prayers seem to fail
In joy and sorrow my homes in your arms
In world so hollow
It is breaking my heart
In joy and sorrow my homes in your amrs
In world so hollow
It is breaking my heart
Oh girl we are the same
We are strong and blessed and so brave
With souls to be saved
And faith regained
All our tears wipe away
In joy and sorrow my homes in your arms
In world so hollow
It is breaking my heart
In joy and sorrow my homes in your arms
In world so hollow
It is breaking my heart
In joy and sorrow my homes in your arms
In world so hollow
It is breaking my heart
In joy and sorrow my homes in your arms
In world so hollow
It is breaking my heart
And my homes in your arms
And it is breaking my heart
My homes in your arms
And it is breaking my heart
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When They Moan
When they moan...
They are much upset.
And beset in troubled homes.
When they moan...
Storm clouds have arrived.
And they can not hide,
Their groans.
When they moan!
Fed up by the rise of lies,
Told about but denied.
And there is no where to put aside their pride,
When they moan.
With a besetting that upsets them...
In their troubled homes.
And displeasures once unknown are shown.
As they gather to scatter chatter,
That droans.
When they moan.
In voices now condoned,
They moan.
With a groaning shown and known,
From their homes.
Leaving no one left alone,
When the moaning droans.
Aye curumba!
With a groaning shown and known,
From their homes.
Aye curumba!
Leaving no one left alone,
When the moaning droans.
Aye curumba!
In voices now condoned...
They moan.
Aye curumba!
With a groaning shown and known,
From their homes.
Aye curumba!
Leaving no one left alone,
When the moaning droans.
Aye curumba!
In voices now condoned...
They moan.
Aye curumba!
With a groaning shown and known,
When they moan!
Dedicated:
To my Latino brothers and sisters,
experiencing injustices 'anywhere'...
all one day will be well.
Your struggles have not gone unnoticed.
And your contributions are duly noted!
I love you.
~LSP~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Homes Not a Home
Homes not a home without you
Homes not home without the ones you love
Homes not a home when one is missing
That missing one is the heart of the home
To to make the home a home again you go looking for them
in good weather or bad weather
You look all over town..
Screaming and shouting their name.
Making all kind of sounds
Hooting and a hollering.
and carring on.
just to make a point.
missing one, come home...
you are loved.
come home safe
return to us
a homes not a home with out you
you are unique
you are rare
Theres no one like you.
you, we can't replace..
come home come home
so home can be a home again.
Dedicated to carlos ortiz
poem by Krystal Vincent
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The Christmas Homes of England
The Christmas homes of England!
How far-famed and how dear;
In bright array they ever stand,
That glad day of the year;
When gathered round the hearth-stone,
The loved ones joyful meet,
With one accord from far and near,
The circle glad to greet.
The Christmas homes of England!
O, many a joyous brow,
Which ever yet hath hailed that day,
Will sorrowfully bow,
When this one now returneth;
For they look, but look in vain,
The pride and joy of that glad home,
They ne'er shall see again!
The Christmas homes of England!
In manhood's noblest bloom,
On Alma's bloody fields thy lords
Have found their lowly tomb;
The warrior grey, whose stalwart arm
Had prostrate laid the foe;
And gallant sons of noble sires,
By them in death lie low!
The Christmas homes of England!
Alike in peasant's cot,
Where hath the death-wail not been heard,
Where hath it entered not?
And the widowed mother silent weeps,
And sheds the bitter tear,
As fancy sees her gallant boy,
The cold ground for his bier!
The Christmas homes of England!
In that far-off Eastern land,
What thoughts will be awakened
Among that gallant band?
How from scenes so dark and fearful,
Their spirit will take flight
To the bright home of their childhood,
And the happy Christmas night!
The Christmas homes of England!
The love of many years
Is turned into a ceaseless fount
Of bitterness and tears;
The mother and the widow,
The maiden and the child,
They call; but none shall answer,
Those loving accents mild!
O, Christmas homes of England!
There's One, the widow's God!
Who, while He chastens, pitieth
The sad ones 'neath His rod;
His arm beneath supported
Thy loved ones in the field,
And whispered, "Leave thy little ones
To me, their God, their shield!
O, Christmas homes of England!
Let all unite in prayer,
That He, the widow's God, may take
Such to His special care;
And we to whom he spareth
Our hearts best treasure yet;
The widow and the orphan,
O let us not forget!
poem by Caroline Hayward
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Peace for Christmas
All I want for Christmas is Peace
All I want is war to cease
In the homes and on the street
Peace on earth and joy to greet
Underneath my Christmas tree
Christmas morn I hope to see
Headlines blaring PEACE ON EARTH!
For men of naught and men of worth
Wrap peace up in shiny foil
Seal it tight so it won't spoil
Put it on a freezer shelf
Keep it fresh, our future wealth
Take it out at dinner time
Share a slice of peace of mind
Pass it out to all our Brothers
Sisters, Children and our Mothers
Use the peace meal, use it wisely
Digest it well and let our eyes see
Peace on earth, good will to men
Need not wait until the end
In our homes on Christmas Day
Preach of Peace as only way
To be happy, to be sure
To meet Peace at Heaven's door
poem by Kenneth Snow
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Rain.
the grass waving in the wind
the tree's swaying in the breeze
the windy weather the rain
winter
the clouds of different shades
black grey white
smoke rising above the house's
fire's alight
warming the air within there homes
keeping them warm from the cold
air outside there cozy homes
rain starting to pour apon there roofs
hitting hard
the weather getting worse
poeple hiding in there homes
away from it all.
poem by Nick.. Sorensen
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So We Are Now Refugees
Little drops from heaven's ballister
Ceaslessly falls upon our land
Heaven weeps on us without remedy
Our land is excessively watered
Gutters are fed to yhe throats
Rivers rages above their banks
Furrows are submerged with ridges
Our farmlands suddenly vamoosed
Our homes are sacked by floods
From upper Benue to down Niger
Our homes laid postrate in floods
Old people cry for help
Mothers screamed for washed away children
Lives bodies float on water surface
Hues reign in our habitations
No more homes, no more land
Floods has eaten over our land
No more glitter in our birthplace
We are now refugees in our land
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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Brothers
Lets get to the point now
Just because weve got the same mum and dad
That dont mean im your keeper
That dont mean I owe anything to you
You dont care for me
And man I dont think that much of you
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
I dont approve of anything you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Cain and abel and me and you
You drove my car when we were young boys
And you tore it up too
You never paid to get it fixed
And you got me beat up a time or two
I know I should forgive and forget
But man I still hold a grudge against you
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
I dont approve of anything you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Cain and abel and me and you
It is as normal as it can be
This sibling rivalry
We should have dropped it at 22
But man I cant stand the things you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Youre always want something from me
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
It was so much fun having you in the family
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Now that were grown it aint helped nothin? at all
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
On my birthday, please dont bother to call
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, youre my brother brother brother
Brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, were brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, were brothers brothers brothers
Brothers brothers brothers
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Untitled 1
I gladly would sing in a joyous strain,
But my heart of its joy is bereft;
For my young life there is nought but grief and pain,
And a haunting memory left.
Look at the stars how they gleam from the skies
On me with a frosty stare;
Can it be that this world hath no pitying eyes
For the houseless child of care?
Ye that look on me have homes tonight,
And loving ones wait you there;
And the cheerful fire is burning bright,
And young faces are beaming fair.
Though a thousand homes are around I know
'Mong them all there is no home for me:
For I must sleep in the cold white snow,
And the skies must my shelter be.
My life is still in its summer years,
But its flowers can bloom no more;
I weep - and mine are the bitter tears
That are wept for the joys of yore.
Then I cannot be glad, for my heart will cling
To the grief that is all its own:
So wonder not that I only sing
A song with a mournful tone.
poem by Owen Suffolk
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Woman And War
We women teach our little sons how wrong
And how ignoble blows are; school and church
Support our precepts and inoculate
The growing minds with thoughts of love and peace.
‘Let dogs delight to bark and bite, ’ we say;
But human beings with immortal souls
Must rise above the methods of the brute
And walk with reason and with self-control.
And then – dear God! you men, you wise, strong men,
Our self-announced superiors in brain,
Our peers in judgement, you go forth to war!
You leap at one another, mutilate
And starve and kill your fellow men, and ask
The world’s applause for such heroic deeds.
You boast and strut; and if no song is sung,
No laudatory epic writ in blood,
Telling how many widows you have made,
Why then, penforce, you say our bards are dead
And inspiration sleeps to wake no more.
And we, the women, we whose lives you are –
What can we do but sit in silent homes
And wait and suffer? Not for us the blare
Of trumpets and the bugle’s call to arms –
For us no waving banners, no supreme,
Triumphant hour of conquest. Ours the slow
Dread torture of uncertainty, each day
The bootless battle with the same despair.
And when at best your victories reach our ears,
There reaches with them to our pitying hearts
The thought of countless homes made desolate
And other women weeping for their dead.
O men, wise men, superior beings, say,
Is there no substitute for war in this
Great age and ere? If you answer ‘No’
Then let us rear our children to be wolves
And teach them from the cradle how to kill.
Why should we women take waste our time and work
In talking peace, when men declare for war?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Osama Can You See
I remember when you attacked us, in our own land
It seems like only yesterday...
When so many... thousands of my brothers and sisters laid
The wounds you left... cut us so very deep
Still on our minds...
Most likely forever... we'll keep
Yes... We had tried to be good neighbors
Foods, medicines, dams floods controlled.
But for our own tears?
They've just endlessly flowed...
And
For our torn hearts.... bleeding,
For our souls.... pains beyond pains.... and sad...
Yet, from with in comes something,
That you never knew we had!
Love for our country
United... heart to heart
And when needed... hand to hand
Hurt us... yes...Yes!
Yet together we still stand
Well... Old Rett Buttler said....He said it best for us... Frankly Osama...
We now don't give a Damn
You've opened such a Big Can of Worms
Our Only Warning For The Taliban's
So we're still burying our dead... and crying... and...(oh,)
Some more flowers, and tears on their graves...
This is why we came to teach you about
The Homes of The Brave
And so
By the Dawns Early Light...
The Rockets Red Glare...
The Bombs Bursting in Air...
Osama Can You See?
Our Flag is Still out There...
And con-quer we must...
For our cause... it is just....
And this be our mot-to.........
In God is always our trust....
And that star-span-gled banner......
In tri-umph still waves.......
Over the Lands of the Free..........
And the Homes of the Brave..........
poem by Clyde Bryson
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I have been very happy with my homes, but homes really are no more than the people who live in them.
quote by Nancy Reagan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Listening To A Beautiful Woman Singing The Songs Of War
they all left their homes and sailed on pumped boats
to the other island
children all gathered like some dried grits of maize
while their fathers stand and hold their hands on their brows
looking for the right direction
their mothers covering their faces
with veils
bringing all the necessities
that will last them for only a few days
this is the quick way to save their lives
from an ongoing war
when the enemies attack their homes
the only one left in their silent place
is this beautiful woman
singing on top of her voice
in acapella the songs of war
and death
some blood will again flow
more men shall be killed
as history repeats
itself
good men doing nothing
except to follow orders of the lying queen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song for norway national hymn
Yes, we love this land that towers
Where the ocean foams;
Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers
Many thousand homes.
Love it, love it, of you thinking,
Father; mother dear,
And that night of saga sinking
Dreamful to us here.
This the land that Harald guarded
With his hero-throng,
This the land that Haakon warded,
Hailed by Eyvind's song.
Olaf here the cross erected,
While his blood he shed;
Sverre's word this land protected
'Gainst the Roman dread.
Peasants whetted axes carried,
Broke th' invader's blow;
Tordenskjold flashed forth and harried,
Lighted home the foe.
Women oft to arms were leaping,
Manlike in their deed;
Others' lot was naught but weeping,
Tears that brought their meed.
Many truly were we never,
But we did suffice,
When in times of testing ever
Worthy was the prize.
For we would the land see burning,
Rather than its fall;
Memory our thoughts is turning
Down to Fredrikshald!
Harder times we bore that tried us
Were cast off in scorn;
In that crisis was beside us
Blue-eyed freedom born.
That gave father-strength for bearing
Famine-need and sword,
Honor death itself outwearing,
And it gave accord.
Far our foe his weapons flinging
Up his visor raised;
We in wonder to him springing
On our brother gazed.
Both by wholesome shame incited
Southward made our way;
Brothers three
, in heart united,
We shall stand for aye!
Men of Norway, high or lowly,
Give to God the praise!
He our land's Defender Holy
In its darkest days!
All our fathers here have striven
And our mothers wept,
Hath the Lord His guidance given,
So our right we kept.
Yes, we love this land that towers
Where the ocean foams;
Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers
Many thousand homes.
As our fathers' conflict gave it
Vict'ry at the end,
Also we, when time shall crave it,
Will its peace defend.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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The Woman That You Are
In the weakness of your ribs bone
Encouragement you whisper in a bold tone
To nurture lavender in your homes zone
Behind a man the woman you are
Coins tied to your cloths clot.
All the days toil had brought
And the hunger in the child cry
In your heart you pamper try
Funning to cook under the nim
As the suns day go dim
The homes troubles you redeem
And the woman that you can be
When the mans fist do blow
In your tears the pains flow
Your love you still do show
In a woman's women you are a woman
poem by Peter Atta Brown
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Towns and cities throughout the United States have opened their hearts and homes to thousands of families displaced from their homes as a result of this horrific storm.
Scared Skin Of Long Island
Winds have blow in,
and scared the skin of our Long Island,
water damage flooded our homes,
so many are disparaged,
alone and now homeless,
left adrift on the waves of fate,
to many still wait,
for the lights to come on,
as they look around,
to see all the homes that are gone,
we will try to survive here on our strong island.
poem by Walter C. Edwards
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The Homes Of England
The stately homes of England
How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!
The deer across their green sward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.
The merry homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told;
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The cottage homes of England!
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silv'ry brook,
And round the hamlet-fanes;
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free fair homes of England!
Long, long in hut and hall
May hearts of native proof be rear'd
To guard each hallow'd wall.
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flow'ry sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
quote by Siegfried Sassoon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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