En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Proem

IN the black night, along the mud-deep roads,
Amid the threatening boughs and ghastly streams,
Hark! sounds that gird the darknesses like goads,
Murmurs and rumours and reverberant dreams,
Trampling, breaths, movements, and a little light. —
The marching of the Army of the Night!
The stricken men, the mad brute-beasts are keeping
No more their places in the ditches or holes,
But rise, and join us, and the women, weeping
Beside the roadways, rise like demon-souls.
Fill up the ranks! What shimmers there so bright?
The bayonets of the Army of the Night!
Fill up the ranks! We march in steadfast column,
In wavering lines yet forming more and more;
Men, women, children, sombre, silent, solemn,
Rank follows rank like billows to the shore.
Dawnwards we tramp, towards the hills and light.
On, on and up, the Army of the Night!

poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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King Bibler's Army

It was ten years ago when the belle of the village
Gave here her hand to the young millionaire,
Every toungue (even those of the bells in the steeple)
Saying "Joy to the Heav'n-blest pair!"
She was sweet as the rosebud that blooms in the valley;
He was manly, and noble, and brave.
Tell me, where are they now?
In the sad-eyed procession,
Marching, down, down, down to the grave.

Hark! hark! a pageant passes
(tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp):
I hear the tread of moving masses
(tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp)
O Heaven save our young men --
'tis King Bibler's Army,
Marching down, down, down to the grave.

At the head of the boat are the dashing lieutenants
Who entice young recruits into line;
Arm in arm, three abreast, they keep step with the music,
Bearing goblets of blood red wine.
In the rear, by and by, we shall see them together,
As they stagger along on the pave,
With their wives and their children, a rag-robed procession,
Marching, down, down, down to the grave.

From the front to the rear is the rule of promotion
In the army King Bibler commands;
And the pension is pov'rty, disease and dishonor,
With a forfeit of home and lands.
So the friend that was treated to cordials and juleps,
Will be treated at last like a slave,
As he fags at the end of the chaingang procession,
Marching, down, down, down to the grave.

Would you fill up the ranks? let your town send its quota:
Seventy thousand recruits must be found,
For the gravediggers reckon they bury that number
Every year in the cold, cold ground.
Yet the rest hobble on, and the colors they carry,
Though in tatters, triumphantly wave,
For they vanquish themselves in this madman's procession,
Marching, down, down, down to the grave.

poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Army of the Rear

I listened through the music and the sounds of revelry,
And all the hollow noises of that year of Jubilee;
I heard beyond the music and beyond the local cheer,
The steady tramp of thousands that were marching in the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
They seem to shake the air,
Those never-ceasing footsteps of the outcasts in the rear.
I heard defiance ringing from the men of rags and dirt,
I heard wan woman singing that sad “Song of the Shirt”,
And o’er the sounds of menace and moaning low and drear,
I heard the steady tramping of their feet along the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Vibrating in the air —
They’re swelling fast, those footsteps of the Army of the Rear!

I hate the wrongs I read about, I hate the wrongs I see!
The tramping of that army sounds as music unto me!
A music that is terrible, that frights the anxious ear,
Is beaten from the weary feet that tramp along the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
In dogged, grim despair —
They have a goal, those footsteps of the Army of the Rear!

I looked upon the nobles, with their lineage so old;
I looked upon their mansions, on their acres and their gold,
I saw their women radiant in jewelled robes appear,
And then I joined the army of the outcasts in the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
We’ll show what Want can dare,
My brothers and my sisters of the Army of the Rear!

I looked upon the mass of poor, in filthy alleys pent;
And on rich men’s Edens, that are built on grinding rent;
I looked o’er London’s miles of slums — I saw the horrors there,
And swore to die a soldier of the Army of the Rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
I’ve sworn to do and dare,
I’ve sworn to die a soldier of the Army of the Rear!

“They’re brutes,” so say the wealthy, “and by steel must be dismayed” —
Be brutes among us, nobles, they are brutes that ye have made;
We want what God hath given us, we want our portion here,
And that is why we’re marching — and we’ll march beyond the rear!
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Awake and have a care,
Ye proud and haughty spurners of the wretches in the rear.

We’ll nurse our wrongs to strengthen us, our hate that it may grow,
For, outcast from society, society’s our foe.
Beware! who grind out human flesh, for human life is dear!
There’s menace in the marching of the Army of the Rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
There’s danger in despair,
There’s danger in the marching of the Army of the Rear!

The wealthy care not for our wants, nor for the pangs we feel;
Our hands have clutched in vain for bread, and now they clutch for steel!
Come, men of rags and hunger, come! There’s work for heroes here!
There’s room still in the vanguard of the Army of the Rear!
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
O men of want and care!
There’s glory in the vanguard of the Army of the Rear!

poem by Henry Lawson
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Dream-March

'Wasn't it a funny dream!--perfectly bewild'rin'!--
Last night, and night before, and night before that,
Seemed like I saw the march o' regiments o' children,
Marching to the robin's fife and cricket's rat-ta-tat!
Lily-banners overhead, with the dew upon 'em,
On flashed the little army, as with sword and flame;
Like the buzz o' bumble-wings, with the honey on 'em,
Came an eerie, cheery chant, chiming as it came:--

_Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling_!
_Where go the children, travelling ahead_?
_Some go to kindergarten; some go to day-school_;
_Some go to night-school; and some go to bed_!

Smooth roads or rough roads, warm or winter weather,
On go the children, tow-head and brown,
Brave boys and brave girls, rank and file together,
Marching out of Morning-Land, over dale and down:

Some go a-gypsying out in country places--
Out through the orchards, with blossoms on the boughs
Wild, sweet, and pink and white as their own glad faces;
And some go, at evening, calling home the cows.

_Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling_!
_Where go the children, travelling ahead_?
_Some go to foreign wars, and camps by the firelight_--
_Some go to glory so; and some go to bed_!

Some go through grassy lanes leading to the city--
Thinner grow the green trees and thicker grows the dust;
Ever, though, to little people any path is pretty
So it leads to newer lands, as they know it must.
Some go to singing less; some go to list'ning;
Some go to thinking over ever-nobler themes;
Some go anhungered, but ever bravely whistling,
Turning never home again only in their dreams.

_Where go the children? Travelling! Travelling_!
_Where go the children, travelling ahead_?
_Some go to conquer things; some go to try them_;
_Some go to dream them; and some go to bed_!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Right in Front of the Army

"Where 'ave you been this week or more,
'Aven't seen you about the war'?
Thought perhaps you was at the rear
Guarding the waggons." "What, us? No fear!
Where have we been? Why, bless my heart,
Where have we been since the bloomin' start?
Right in the front of the army,
Battling day and night!
Right in the front of the army
Teaching 'em how to fight!"
Every separate man you see,
Sapper, gunner, and C.I.V.,
Every one of 'em seems to be
Right in front of the army!
Most of the troops to the camp had gone,
When we met with a cow-gun toiling on;
And we said to the boys, as they walked her past,
"Well, thank goodness, you're here at last!"
"Here at last! Why, what d'yer mean?
Ain't we just where we've always been?
Right in the front of the army,
Battling day and night!
Right in the front of the army,
Teaching'em bow to fight!"
Correspondents and Vets in force,
Mounted foot and dismounted horse,
All of them were, as a matter of course,
Right in the front of the army.

Old Lord Roberts will have to mind
If ever the enemy get behind;
For they'll smash him up with a rear attack,
Because his army has got no back!
Think of the horrors that might befall
An army without any rear at all!
Right in the front of the army,
Battling day and night!
Right in the front of the army,
Teaching 'em how to fight!
Swede attaches and German counts,
Yeomen (known as De Wet's Remounts),
All of them were, by their own accounts,
Right in the front of the army!

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Silent Ranks

I wear no uniforms, no blues or greens
But I am in the Army of the Ranks rarely seen
I have no rank upon my shoulders- salutes I do not give
But the military world is the place where I live

I'm not in the chain of command, orders I do not give or get
But my husband is the one who does, and this I can't forget
I'm not the one who fires the weapon, who puts my life on the line
But my job is just as tough, I'm the one that's left behind

My husband is a patriot, a brave and prideful man
And the call to serve his country not all can understand
Behind the lines I see the things needed to keep this country free
My husband makes the sacrifice, but so do the kids and me

I love the man I married, military is his life
So I pledge to support my hero
And stand among the ranks as the
Unknown Army Wife...

poem by Courtney Lane
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Military wives- The silent ranks

I wear no uniforms no blue or army greens I am in the military ranks rarely seen I have no rank upon my shoulders salutes i do not give the military world is the place i live I'm not in the chain of command orders i do not get my husband is the one who does this i cannot forget I'm not the one who fires the weapon who put my life on the line though my job is just as tough I'm the one that's left behind my husband is a patriot a brave prideful man and the call to serve his country not all can understand behind the lines i see the thing needed to keep this country free my husband make the sacrifice but so do our children and i I love the man i married soldiering is his life I stand in the silent ranks know as the military wives

poem by Charity Howard
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The Temperance Army

Come all ye friends, and citizens,
Where-ever you may be,
Come listen to a few kind words
A friend will say to thee,
Although going to speak to you
I mean you all no harm,
Tho' I wish you'd join the army
Of the temperance reform.

Come join the glorious army
Of the temperance reform,
And every man that joins the ranks,
Will find it is no harm,
To wear Red Ribbon on his breast,
To show to this rare world,
There is one that joined the army
And his colors has unfurled.

Come all men in our nation,
Come join this happy band,
And make your homes an eden,
Throughout our happy land.
Your homes will then be happy,
Your friends will all be kind;
And in the domestic circle
True happiness will find.

Ah, from this temperance army,
Your feet shall never stray.
Your mind will then be balmy
If you keep the shining way.
Your paths are strewn with flowers,
And your homes are rosy light,
And God will watch the hours,
For He's ever on the right.

Come all ye merry happy lads,
And listen to my rhyme.
Don't be afraid to join the pledge
And let be the cursed wine.
Ah, lay the flowing bowl aside,
And pass saloons if you can,
And let the people see that you
Can be a sober man.

Go join the temperance army,
And battle for the right,
And fight against the enemy
With all your main and might.
For it is a glorious army
This temperance reform,
And the badge Red Ribbon
Will do you all no harm.

poem by Julia A Moore
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The Light And The Night

light of light night of night bind us in the dead of night. by lights bright light the deavil will fight. fight for the right to fight in the night. light will fight to end the night so all shall run and all shall fear for while the light and the night shall fight for all of time it is us in the mild that shall pay the price. not the light who thinks there right and not the night who wants to fight but the ones who are forever traped in the mild. with no way out we suffer like no othere in the night and in the light for all of time we watch the light and watch the night fight and fight untill we all turn to dust and are souls join the fight for the light or for the night one way or another we all shall join the fight.

poem by Joey Cooksey
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My Army, O, My Army!

My Army, O, my army! The time I dreamed of comes!
I want to see your colours; I want to hear your drums!
I heard them in my boyhood when all men’s hearts seemed cold;
I heard them as a Young Man—and I am growing old!
My army, O, my army! The signs are manifold!
My army, O, my army! My army and my Queen!
I used to sing your battle-songs when I was seventeen!
They came to me from ages, they came from far and near;
They came to me from Paris, they came to me from Here!—
They came when I was marching with the Army of the Rear.

My Queen’s dark eyes were flashing (oh, she was younger then!);
My Queen’s Red Cap was redder than the reddest blood of men!
My Queen marched like an Amazon, with anger manifest—
Her dark hair darkly matted from a knifegash in her breast
(For blood will flow where milk will not—her sisters knew the rest).

My legions ne’er were listed, they had no need to be;
My army ne’er was trained in arms—’twas trained in misery!
It took long years to mould it, but war could never drown
The shuffling of my army’s feet in the hunger-haunted town—
A little child was murdered, and so Tyranny went down.

My army kept no order, my army kept no time;
My army dug no trenches, yet died in dust and slime;
Its troops were fiercely ignorant, as to the manner born;
Its clothes were rags and tatters, or patches worn and torn—
Ah, me! It wore a uniform that I have often worn!

The faces of my army were ghastly as the dead;
My army’s cause was Hunger, my army’s cry was “Bread!”
It called on God and Mary and Christ of Nazareth;
It cried to kings and courtesans that fainted at its breath—
Its women beat their poor, flat breasts where babes had starved to death.

My army! My army—I hear the sound of drums
Above the roar of battles—and, lo! my army comes!
Nor creed of man may stay it—nor war, nor nation’s law—
The pikes go through the firing-lines as pitchforks go through straw—
Like pitchforks through the litter, while empires stand in awe.

poem by Henry Lawson
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The Two Armies

Once over the ocean in distant lands,
In an age long past, were two hostile bands-
Two armies of men, both brave, both strong,
And their hearts beat high as they marched along
To fight the battle of right and wrong.

Never, I think, did the Eye of heaven
Look down on two armies so nearly even
In well-trained soldiers, in strength and might.
But one was the
Wrong
, and one was the
Right
,
And the last was the stronger in heaven's sight.
And these hostile armies drew near, one night,
And pitched their tents on two hill-sides green,
With only the brow of a hill between.

With the first red beams of the morning light
Both knew would open the awful fight,
And one of the armies lay hushed and still,
And slept in the tents on the green side-hill.
Heart beat with heart: and they all were as one
In the thought of the battle to be begun
With the first bright glance of the morning sun.
Their aim was ignoble, their cause was wrong,
But they were
united
, and so they were strong.

Not so the army just over the hill:
While the ranks of the foe were hushed and still,
The ranks of the
Right
were torn with strife,
And with noise and confusion the air was rife.
Disputes and quarrels, dissensions and jars,
And the sound of fighting, and civil wars;
And, ere the morning, brother and brother,
Instead of the enemy, fought with each other.

Over the hill, the foe, in glee,
Listened and laughed. 'Ho ho!' quoth he.
'There is strife in the enemy's ranks, I see,
And the bright red beams of the rising sun
Will see a victory easily won.
It matters little how strong the foe,
This is a truth we all do know:

There is no success without unity,

However noble the cause may be.
The day is ours before it's begun.
Ho! for the triumph so easily won.'

And on the morrow, the ranks of the Right
Were routed and beaten, and put to flight,
And the Wrong was the victor, and gained the fight.

There are two armies abroad to-day,
As in the age that has passed away.
The makers, and venders, and patrons, and all
Who aid in the traffic of Alcohol,
These are the warriors, bold and strong,
Who swell the ranks of the army of Wrong.
And we are the soldiers, true and brave,
Who are striving with heart and hand to save
The youths of our land from the deep, dark grave
That the foe is digging by day and by night.
Only
one thing
can defeat the Right.
There is nothing but triumph for us, unless

Dissension
, that crafty foe to success,
Creeps into our ranks. Oh! let us
unite
!
Let heart beat with heart as we enter the fight;
Let the whole mighty army be
one
for the time,
And sweep on the foe in a column sublime
In its unity, earnestness, oneness, and might,
Till the foe stands aghast at the wonderful sight,
Till the enemy cowers and shivers, afraid
Of the awful approach of the grand cavalcade.
Close up the ranks, brothers! sisters, draw near,
We are fighting one fight, we are all kinsmen here.
Closer, still closer! in nearness lies might.
Love is our watchword-on to the fight!

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I joined the army as a private. I was offered a rank at that time, but I refused. I preferred to remain a private. First of all, I wasn't taken by ranks, and before I knew it, they put me in the most sensitive positions anyway.

quote by Shimon Peres
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strangered In The Night

Well it was dark at midnight
There was hardly any moon
And no one really saw much
No one was really sure
But something didnt seem right
Something seemed kinda queer
The roar turned into whispers
Everyone stood t here
When the sounds fit the night
Something hiding from the light
Like strangers in the night
Well I didnt see them shotguns
I didnt see no knife
I saw this crazy black guy
With a demon in his eyes
I heard him say white man
Ive seen that silver cue
You dont remember me well
But I remember you
When the sounds fit the night
Something hiding from the light
Like strangers in the night
Well the knife just left his fingers
As the black guy took his aim
White guys head exploded
My God how much pain
And then everybody scattered
I heard some woman scream
God damn you old black bastard
Youve blown away my dreams
When the sounds fit the night
Something hiding from the light
Like strangers in the night

song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night--A Phantasy

Night! the horrible wizard Night!
The dumb and terrible Night
Hath drawn his circle of magic, round
Over the sky, and over the ground,
Without a sound.
Ah me, what woeful phantoms rise,
With ice-cold hands and pitiless eyes,
As stars grow out of the summer skies,
Tangible things to mortal sight,
Under the hands of the wizard Night!

Night! the mystical prophet, Night!
The haunted and awful Night!
With the trail of his garment's shadowy fall,
Soundless and black as a funeral pall,
Now enters his dread laboratory.
A wan, and faint, and wavering glory
Shines from a veiled lamp somewhere hidden.
Like a lily in a grave:
And things unholy, and things forbidden,-
Hands that have long been the earth-worm's prey,
And shrouded faces out of the clay.
Rise and fill the enchanted cave
With a pale and deathly light,-
The haunted and awful Night!

Night! the abhorred magician Night!
The black astrologer Night!
Night is the world!-I shiver with fright:-
The air is full of evil things,
The coil and glitter of snaky rings,
And, the tremor of vast invisible wings,
That are not heard but felt:
They touch my hair, my hand, my cheek,
They mope and mouth, but they never speak
To utter their awful history.
Oh, when will the darkness break and melt,
Like blocks of ice on a golden reef,
And little by little, as leaf by leaf,
In light and color and form increased,
The rose of morning blooms in the east,-
The old yet ever new mystery!
And I fall on my knees to worship the light
That casts out the evil demon of Night,
And hallows with blossoms, like prayers, the way
Of another new day.

poem by Kate Seymour Maclean
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1692

(copyright nazareth, tiflis tunes,inc.-ascap)
Mist upon the hill can remember murder,
Mist upon the hill that once flowed with blood,
Helped to cover up an approaching army,
Hid the killing lust in the eyes of men.
Sitting by the fire was a sentry sleeping,
Rolled up in their beds were children that play,
Unsuspecting what was to fall upon them,
None of them would see the dawn next day.
Bloody were the blades that fell on children,
Hate the blinding light tried to kill a name,
The mountains only know all the souls that died there,
Glen coe from that day can recall the shame.
The quiet of the night never gave them warning,
The silence of the hills wouldn't let them know,
They'd never rise again on a mist filled morning,
Never see the sunrise above glen coe.

song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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“light”

Light-Light ever bright
Flood my every pore
Banish the black of night
From my very core

Light-Light ever bright
Sent from high above
Still my inner fight
Fill me with your love

Light-Light ever bright
You bring me cheer 'n joy
My heart fills with delight
I’m such a happy boy

Light-Light ever bright
Your gift to me is second sight

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Grafted Into the Army

Our Jimmy has gone for to live in a tent,
they have grafted him into the Army,
he finally puckered up courage and went,
when they grafted him into the Army.
I told them the child was too young, alas!
At the captains forequarters, they said he would pass,
they'd train him up well in the Infantry class,
so they grafted him into the Army.

Oh, Jimmy, farewell! Your brothers fell way down in Alabammy;
I though they would spare a lone widder's heir,
but they grafted him into the Army.

Dressed up in his unicorn, dear little chap,
they have grafted him into the Army;
it seems but a day since he sot in my lap,
but they grafted him into the Army.
And these are the trousies he used to wear,
them very same buttons, the patch and the tear;
but Uncle Sam gave him a bran' new pair
when they grafted him into the Army.

Now in my provisions I see him revealed,
they have grafted him into the Army;
a picket beside the contented field,
they have grafted him into the Army.
He looks kinder sickish -- begins to cry,
a big volunteer standing right in his eye!
Oh, what if the ducky should up and die,
now they've grafted him into the Army.

poem by Henry Clay Work
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I See By Night

but the day provides its light
but my eyes are not dim
but the day-break is every man's pleasure
but the blue sky is to my eyes a cloud
and the sharpest moment of my eyes is the night
for I only see by night

through the trials an travails
in this game of fall and rise life offers
I see a new me at each escape route
something sprout in me as the tree sprouts again
though I never desire the night's walk
but I can only see by night

how I wish there were no night
that I may not hit my leg at stones
or that it's always night
so that a stronger me will soon rise
but the night and day exchange baton
and this makes for the perfect man I am
for now I see by night and day

poem by Agbola Oluseyi
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The Night March

With banners furled and clarions mute,
An army passes in the night;
And beaming spears and helms salute
The dark with bright.

In silence deep the legions stream,
With open ranks, in order true;
Over boundless plains they stream and
gleam--
No chief in view!

Afar, in twinkling distance lost,
(So legends tell) he lonely wends
And back through all that shining host
His mandate sends.

poem by Herman Melville
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Oliver's Army

I could talk all night
my mind was sleep walking
While I'm putting the world to rights
Call careers information
Have you got yourself an occupation ?
Oliver's Army is here to stay
Oliver's Army is on their way
And I would rather be anywhere else
But here today
There was a Checkpoint Charlie
He didn't crack a smile
But it's no laughing party
When you've been on the murder mile
If you're out of luck or out of work
We could send you to Johannesburg
Oliver's Army is here to stay
Oliver's Army are on their way
And I would rather be anywhere else
than here today
Hong Kong is up for grabs
London is full of Arabs
We could be in Palestine
Overrun by a Chinese line
With the boys from the Mersey and the Thames and the Tyne
But there's no danger
It's a professional career
and it could be arranged
With just a word in Mr. Churchill's ear
If you're out of luck or out of work
We could send you to Johannesburg
Oliver's Army is here to stay
Oliver's Army are on their way
And I would rather be anywhere else
but here today
And I would rather be anywhere else
but here today

song performed by by Ok Go
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She Likes Night

She likes night
Not wish to be in day light
How beautiful is this night
Everyone is sleeping so delight
In the night she can breath freely
No one upset her unnecessarily
In the day she is endeavoring to hide herself
People wandering to ensnare her by themselves
So, she likes night
Not wish to be in day light
In the day she has to go to school
Fear of flattering in front of other children be fool
Her school fees not yet paid
She is wandering for money to be made
In the day everyone wears beautiful dresses
But she has nothing to impresses
So, she likes night
Not wish to be in day light
In the day she do not go to church masses
Everyone glazing in to her eyes not to Jesus
Tried to close her eyes towards other
But still she can hear the murmurs from the air
In the day she cannot see dreams
For her the time is so extreme
So, she likes night
Not wish to be in day light
In the night she can shed her tears
In the night she can murmur her prayers
She can see her parents on the sky
They are there among the stars looking into her eyes
She likes to be one among them
But still she is living for someone
So, she likes night
Not wish to be in day light
Aswathi

poem by Aswathi Asok
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