Ensign Epps, The Color-Bearer
ENSIGN EPPS, at the battle of Flanders,
Sowed a seed of glory and duty
That flowers and flames in height and beauty
Like a crimson lily with heart of gold,
To-day, when the wars of Ghent are old
And buried as deep as their dead commanders.
Ensign Epps was the color-bearer,—
No matter on which side, Philip or Earl;
Their cause was the shell—his deed was the pearl.
Scarce more than a lad, he had been a sharer
That day in the wildest work of the field.
He was wounded and spent, and the fight was lost;
His comrades were slain, or a scattered host.
But stainless and scatheless, out of the strife,
He had carried his colors safer than life.
By the river's brink, without weapon or shield,
He faced the victors. The thick-heart mist
He dashed from his eyes, and the silk he kissed
Ere he held it aloft in the setting sun,
As proudly as if the fight were won,
And he smiled when they ordered him to yield.
Ensign Epps, with his broken blade,
Cut the silk from the gilded staff,
Which he poised like a spear till the charge was made,
And hurled at the leader with a laugh.
Then round his breast, like the scarf of his love,
He tied the colors his heart above,
And plunged in his armor into the tide.
And there, in his dress of honor, died.
Where are the lessons your kinglings teach?
And what is text of your proud commanders?
Out of the centuries, heroes reach
With the scroll of a deed, with the word of a story,
Of one man's truth and of all men's glory,
Like Ensign Epps at the battle of Flanders.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Related quotes
Today... 'The Ensign of the People
Ensign of the people for all to see
The One Who comes from the root of Jesse
Now Jew and Gentile come to Him for rest
For in Christ all shall be forever blest
Flying high on the cross of Calvary
Is the Ensign of God for you and me
God loved the world and gave His Only Son
Who through His death the victory has won
From the Root of Jesse the ensign flies
"Come, enter the gates of heaven it cries."
The Sovereign Lord beckons me to come
and calls me to my great heavenly home
There praise is my glorious battle cry
and His great love my soul shall occupy
Called into His banqueting house above
Where His great banner over me is love
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Banner Of Men Who Were Free
Flag of the great republic, banner of men who were free!
Carried aloft for freedom in many a bloody gorge;
Torn by the shot of tyrants in battle by land and sea,
The rallying hope of our fathers by Valley Forge.
But what is it but a rag, save it emblem the higher law?
Striped with the red of blood, flecked with the stars of war.
The ensign of might alone, to be held by the people in awe,
And cursed by savage chieftans in lands afar.
Little we owe to the England of this her lesser day,
But much to the field of Naseby, the spirit of Runnymede;
The bold adventurous Angles, who never shrank from the fray
When Liberty cried aloud in her hour of need.
Aloft on the dome of truth, in the city of brotherly love,
A sign to the world of hate, of Christ enthroned in the state,
Symbol of peace, like the olive leaf and the messenger dove,
Flew the flag of our fathers--the sign of a just debate!
But they dare to raise its standard on a field where the battle smoke,
Is rent with the groans of the slain, like the fallen of Lexington;
Where the eagles have traveled afar from the vultures of war which croak
O'er the bodies of those who died for the prize that it should have won?
Flag of a noble race, no longer our flag in truth,
Borne by a hostile hand in a cause of shame,
Give us the banner that flapped in the eyes of the nation's youth
And sent a thrill through the world of its faultless flame!
Yet, if its soul shall perish, take it for what it was --
For the shroud of those who worship the dead ideal;
Dead to lie with the dead beneath the recurrent grass,
No longer to grieve for the lost and no more to feel.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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I'm a survivor of life. I try to give the glory to God and appreciate what's happening to me.
Loyalty to the Flag
In the love of home and country and the flag of Uncle Sam,
Can the loyalty be doubted of a dusky son of Ham?
Wheresoever duty calls him, as a freedman or a slave,
The response is ever hearty when 'Old Glory' he would save.
'Twas the war of Revolution, when a Negro's blood was first,
To be shed for independence, when a yoke the land had cursed;
Crispus Attucks died in Boston, on State street he paid the debt,
Liberty his blood has planted and the tree is growing yet.
Ask the spirit of Pitcairn how he came to meet his death?
Where and who it was that brought him down to breathe the dying breath?
'Twas the Negro Salem's bullet at the charge of Bunker's Hill,
Bringing to the whites their freedom but to Negroes naught but ill.
In the battle of New Orleans, eighteen fourteen was the year,
When the Negro fought with valor till the victory was clear;
Jackson paid this glowing tribute—may the spirit never lag—
'None more strong and none more useful, none more loyal to the flag.'
O, how brave the Negro soldiers when the Civil war was fought!
Shall they fight such noble battles in the nation's cause for naught?
Hark! the battle cry of Charleston! at Fort Wagner is the place!
At Port Hudson and Fort Pillow how the rebel guns they face!
Fifty-fourth of Massachusetts—may such regiments be praised—
By its valor at Fort Wagner, North and South became amazed!
Hall began as color-bearer but was killed on duty grand,
To the spot went William Carney and the colors took in hand.
Wounded many times was Carney, shot in head, in arm and thigh,
On one knee he fell and crawling kept the colors flying high,
Blood upon the banner streaming while his words the action crowned;
'Boys I've kept aloft 'Old Glory' and it never touched the ground!'
Colonel Stafford was disabled, Dwight his men to battle led,
With great feeling at New Orleans, Stafford to the sergeant said,
'Guard, protect defend these colors,' 'Yes,' he answered, 'though I die
I will bring them back in honor or to God report the why.'
All the world has heard the story of the Cuban war with Spain,
Ah! the sound of Negro valor falls upon the ear again,
At Elkaney and San Juan how they helped to win the day,
Near the town of Santiago, held the enemy at bay!
Side by side with other soldiers being in complexion white,
Negroes died to take San Juan in the thickest of the fight,
Thus they gained the worthy plaudit from the loyal, brave and true;
'Negroes on the field of battle, dignify the nation's blue.'
Shall the prejudice existing in the country now, increase,
While the Negro's patriotism merits rest at home and peace?
Nay, the hydra-headed monster in the end will surely die,
We expect the right to triumph over evil by and by.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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The Word and the Deed
THE Word was first, says the revelation:
Justice is older than error or strife;
The Word preceded the Incarnation
As symbol and type of law and life.
And always so are the mighty changes:
The word must be sown in the heart like seed;
Men's hands must tend it, their lives defend it,
Till it burst into flower as a deathless Deed.
The primal truth neither dies nor slumbers,
But lives as the test of the common right,
That the laws proclaimed by the sworded numbers
May stand arraigned in the people's sight.
The Word is great, and no Deed is greater,
When both are of God, to follow or lead;
But, alas, for the truth when the Word comes later,
With questioned steps, to sustain the Deed.
Not the noblest acts can be true solutions;
The soul must be sated before the eye,
Else the passionate glory of revolutions
Shall pass like the flames that flash and die.
But forever the gain when the heart's convictions,
Rooted in nature the masses lead;
The cries of rebellion are benedictions
When the Word has flowered in a perfect Deed.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Destined For Glory
Once upon a time in a forlorn land,
a man on a mission was left at fates hand
In his eyes you could see the whites turn red
Surrounded by evil, abandoned for dead
Born on the run by the sign of the sun
A mail-clad warrior, the chosen one
His name's been cursed, he is bound to fail
A wandering spirit with the will to prevail
By the sign of the moon,
he swore the oath to fight alone
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
He still can recall his father's words
"Don't loose your faith, let your voice be heard"
Echoes from the past will lead him on
By these words of honor, shine like the sun
By the sign of the moon
He swore the oath to fight alone
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
The prophecies spoke of a wandering man
Skilled with steel, black as the night
Normally veiled from the mortal eyes
His hammer arose like a magic force
With a gaze that turned everything into stone
the warrior spoke, "I am the one"
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boxing, for me, it's the beginning of all sports. I'm willing to bet that the first sport was a man against another man in a fight, so I think that's something innate in all of us.
England
ENGLAND, England, England,
Girdled by ocean and skies,
And the power of a world, and the heart of a race,
And a hope that never dies.
England, England, England,
Wherever a true heart beats,
Wherever the rivers of commerce flow,
Wherever the bugles of conquest blow,
Wherever the glories of liberty grow,
'Tis the name that the world repeats.
And ye, who dwell in the shadow
Of the century-sculptured piles,
Where sleep our century-honoured dead,
Whilst the great world thunders overhead,
And far out, miles on miles,
Beyond the smoke of the mighty town,
The blue Thames dimples and smiles;
Not yours alone the glory of old,
Of the splendid thousand years,
Of Britain's might and Britain's right
And the brunt of British spears.
Not yours alone, for the great world round,
Ready to dare and do,
Scot and Celt and Norman and Dane,
With the Northman's sinew and heart and brain,
And the Northman's courage for blessing or bane,
Are England's heroes too.
North and south and east and west,
Wherever their triumphs be,
Their glory goes home to the ocean-girt isle,
Where the heather blooms and the roses smile,
With the green isle under her lee.
And if ever the smoke of an alien gun
Should threaten her iron repose,
Shoulder to shoulder against the world,
Face to face with her foes,
Scot, and Celt and Saxon are one
Where the glory of England goes.
And we of the newer and vaster West,
Where the great war-banners are furled,
And commerce hurries her teeming hosts,
And the cannon are silent along our coasts,
Saxon and Gaul, Canadians claim
A part in the glory and pride and aim
Of the Empire that girdles the world.
England, England, England,
Wherever the daring heart
By Arctic floe or torrid strand
Thy heroes play their part;
For as long as conquest holds the earth,
Or commerce sweeps the sea,
By orient jungle or western plain
Will the Saxon spirit be:
And whatever the people that dwell beneath,
Or whatever the alien tongue,
Over the freedom and peace of the world
Is the flag of England flung,
Till the last great freedom is found,
And the last great truth be taught,
Till the last great deed be done,
And the last great battle is fought;
Till the last great fighter is slain in the last great fight,
And the war-wolf is dead in his den–
England, breeder of hope and valour and might,
Iron mother of men.
Yea, England, England, England,
Till honour and valour are dead,
Till the world's great cannons rust,
Till the world's great hopes are dust,
Till faith and freedom be fled,
Till wisdom and justice have passed
To sleep with those who sleep in the many-chambered vast,
Till glory and knowledge are charnelled dust in dust,
To all that is best in the world's unrest,
In heart and mind you are wed.
While out from the Indian jungle
To the far Canadian snows,
Over the East and over the West,
Over the worst and over the best,
The flag of the world to its winds unfurled,
The blood-red ensign blows.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Desinted For Glory
Once upon a time in a forlorn land,
A man on a mission was left at fates hand
In his eyes you could see the whites turn red
Surrounded by evil, abandoned for dead
Born on the run by the sign of the sun
A mail-clad warrior, the chosen one
His names been cursed, he is bound to fail
A wandering spirit with the will to prevail
By the sign of the moon,
He swore the oath to fight alone
Fight with your heart, and youre destined for glory
But fight without honor, and youre destined to fall
He still can recall his fathers words
Dont loose your faith, let your voice be heard
Echoes from the past will lead him on
By these words of honor, shine like the sun
By the sign of the moon
He swore the oath to fight alone
Fight with your heart, and youre destined for glory
But fight without honor, and youre destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and youre destined for glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
The prophecies spoke of a wandering man
Skilled with steel, black as the night
Normally veiled from the mortal eyes
His hammer arose like a magic force
With a gaze that turned everything into stone
The warrior spoke, I am the one
Fight with your heart, and youre destined for glory
But fight without honor, and youre destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and youre destined for glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
Fight with your heart, and youre destined for glory
But fight without honor, and youre destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and youre destined for glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And He Said, Fight On
Time and its ally, Dark Disarmament,
Have compassed me about,
Have massed their armies, and on battle bent
My forces put to rout;
But though I fight alone, and fall, and die,
Talk terms of Peace? Not I.
(Tennyson)
They war upon my fortress, and their guns
Are shattering its walls;
My army plays the cowards' part, and runs,
Pierced by a thousand balls;
They call for my surrender. I reply,
'Give quarter now? Not I.'
They've shot my flag to ribbons, but in rents
It floats above the height;
Their ensign shall not crown my battlements
While I can stand and fight.
I fling defiance at them as I cry,
'Capitulate? Not I.'
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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In flanders
Through sleet and fogs to the saline bogs
Where the herring fish meanders,
An army sped, and then, 't is said,
Swore terribly in Flanders:
"--------!"
"--------!"
A hideous store of oaths they swore,
Did the army over in Flanders!
At this distant day we're unable to say
What so aroused their danders;
But it's doubtless the case, to their lasting disgrace,
That the army swore in Flanders:
"--------!"
"--------!"
And many more such oaths they swore,
Did that impious horde in Flanders!
Some folks contend that these oaths without end
Began among the commanders,
That, taking this cue, the subordinates, too,
Swore terribly in Flanders:
Twas "------------!"
"--------"
Why, the air was blue with the hullaballoo
Of those wicked men in Flanders!
But some suppose that the trouble arose
With a certain Corporal Sanders,
Who sought to abuse the wooden shoes
That the natives wore in Flanders.
Saying: "--------!"
"--------"
What marvel then, that the other men
Felt encouraged to swear in Flanders!
At any rate, as I grieve to state,
Since these soldiers vented their danders
Conjectures obtain that for language profane
There is no such place as Flanders.
"--------"
"--------"
This is the kind of talk you'll find
If ever you go to Flanders.
How wretched is he, wherever he be,
That unto this habit panders!
And how glad am I that my interests lie
In Chicago, and not in Flanders!
"----------------!"
"----------------!"
Would never go down in this circumspect town
However it might in Flanders.
poem by Eugene Field
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Star Light River
Star Light river how beautiful you are
With your unforgettable sunset on the river's edge
The colors of orange, gold, pink and red
Tiny little violets growing here and there
Then the stars come out lighting up the waterfront
Looking like tiny diamonds moving in their very own private dance
The lights of the city add to the glow
There is nothing more beautiful than the river's flow
The river that I have always called Star Light river
If only it could talk I'll bet it could tell us so many secrets
About love and life; I know that I love to sit and take in its beauty
It has such a peace that I enjoy
When I am feeling sad
I feel that it really understands
My very inner thoughts and I am not really alone
What a beautiful friend to have
It never deserts me
It is always there. I love you Star Light river
I promise I will be back to watch your very own private dance
Remembering my stories of love and romance
poem by Alma Jean Epps
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The Subconscious Shield
Inside of each of us,
Is our own protective defense.
Providing protection from hurt (and truth) ,
By means of isolation and separation,
From others, that we deep down,
Know will only cause us pain.
So should I fight my own shield?
Why do I need to be protected,
From one whom I truly love?
They say, sometimes the hardest battle,
Is within yourself.
So how do you fight when your against yourself?
What weapon do I use to combat myself?
Isolation and separation of course
But not people, instead form these thoughts and my mind
Distractions and illusions are my weapon of choice
In this war of mine
There is no way to study the battle
When you're what the battle is raging for
So who will win in a battle of clashing shields?
poem by Peter Vector
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People are realizing that color has no bearing on what's known as brotherhood.
quote by Omar Epps
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If someone saves your life, you develop a brotherhood, no matter what your race.
Wars
honor of those who went
to war to fight for those
who they want to protect.
liberty of freedom, heroes
of our times,
the one who in arm we took
the ones who made us change
the on the battle field that took to protcet
kills and blood in the war
our brothers
and sister who fought in the war we
phrase you with glory and victory
perhap one day we will fight in war as well
they did for us.
poem by Andres Gonzalez
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Salute Wounded Soldier
To serve is a blessing
to battle is a endless honor
to all that served we salute
for the dead we praise their heroism
to drape they coffin with our flag
a 21 gun salute, flags at half staff
we give very little to the wounded
they suffer the most, life ever changing
suffering pain, fighting the nightmares
left to heal, lots to deal with
from the bed they fight for life
pray for healing, what their families are dealing
life changes, minds destroyed, bodies mangled
they fight to survive, strong then life
stronger than us, they will over come
wounds will heal, the nightmares remain
coping with new limbs and faces
proud they stand, Honor they are
Heroes to all, loved by all
thanking for serving, your real deserving
the wounded soldier, the beholder
our deserving heroes, our icons
a salute to all of you
all will not be forgotten
your in our hearts, its an honor
Salute Wounded Soldiers
poem by Michael Peterson
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I'm telling a Richard Pryor story through me.
The Battle of Life
Up! and arm for life's struggle,
We shall conquer in the fight,
If we arm us for the battle
With the weapons Truth and Right;
Though the world's arrayed against us,
We will shrink not from the strife,
For invincible is duty
On the battlefield of life.
In the vanguard of the battle
Foremost comes our foeman Sin,
Like a giant in his prowess,
With an aspect stern and grim.
But, though mighty in his power
We'll preserve a dauntless air,
And we'll fight this dreaded foeman
'Neath the sturdy shield of prayer.
Next is Poverty approaching,
Weapons sure and sharp she wears,
And she's backed by thronging thousands -
By a countless host of cares.
Still, this terrible invader
We'll repel with robust health,
And with energy and labour
Soon we'll win the ally Wealth.
Every step is fraught with struggle,
Cares full armed our path oppose;
Hopes are falling fast around us;
Wounded are we, too, by woes.
Yet our courage must not falter,
We must fight Care hand to hand;
Other hopes will soon support us
If we firmly take our stand.
In the sorried ranks of batte,
With the flag of Right unfurled,
Let our well-tried virtues make us
Victors ever in the world.
Noble to the things we fight for!
Glorious be the deeds we do!
Foeman to the false and evil,
Champions of the good and true!
Fight we as God's soldiers bravely,
Let us conquor by his might;
His Almighty arms shall aid us
Ever in the cause of right,
Fight on to life's last moments,
Faith at last shall conquer death:
Dying - still we'll shout in triumph,
'Victory' with our last drawn breath.
Onward, then, to dare the struggle,
Though we fall upon the field;
Better be struck down in battle,
Than like cowards tamely yield.
Shrink not from the stern encounter,
Duty ever strength supplies;
And from every fall we meet with,
Anteus-like, we'll stronger rise.
poem by Owen Suffolk
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That word, fan, has always kind of bothered me.