A Soldiers Tale
The scum of the earth you called us
In your fancy boots and clothes,
But it was us who faced the guns
And on your orders died
For a shilling in our pocket
And a flogging on our back.
Us Tommies, English, Scots and Welsh
Aye, and Irish too, us lions of the Isles
We stood and fought around the world
And saw how big it was
And when we were finished
A quarter of it was ours.
What a way to live and die
For us poor boys in red
But we took our shilling
And our floggings too,
And when you sent us off to war
We fought and mostly won.
When we stood in that thin red line
We showed them how to fight,
Then supped and tupped
In every place we went.
Yet all the time you treated us
Like shite beneath your feet.
But we saw through you toffs
With your boots and fancy accents,
Your polished schoolboy airs.
Us Tommies, us lions,
We'd seen it all before.
When the cannon and the muskets roared
It was us who stood and faced them
And on your orders died.
But when the guns fell silent
And our blood soaked the earth
It was you who got the medals
And us who paid the price.
poem by Paul Anthony
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Related quotes
For Any Time...
for any time...
i should have stood up,
and didnt,
for any truth
i should have spoken,
but kept silent.
for anyone
i could have helped,
but turned the other way.
for any injustice
i should have fought,
but did nothing...
i ask forgiveness.
for any time...
i've stood up
and fought,
extended a hand,
given more than i could,
stood against the crowd...
i feel no remorse.
i am a man...
you are either
a man, or a woman...
in the end,
that is what we are called to be!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lion King
Two lions fought beneath the sun...
Their teeth as sharp as nails
And when their fight was truly done,
One lion tipped the scales.
The other lion fled the scene
And no more would return.
Though savage, wounded, no more keen
The mightier to learn.
The undefeated lion stood
And watched the loser leave.
He didn't think himself as good
And yet he didn't grieve.
This was their way for centuries,
Their ancient remedy.
Their battles for supremecies
Would end each mystery.
They'd never choose alternatives,
Their code they'd never flout.
No matter if one dies, one lives...
They'd fight to end the doubt.
Thus courage burns within their veins...
Volcanoes borne of rage.
Only the winner truly gains
The right to centre stage.
In truth, the winner takes it all.
The loser has no pride.
Although once mighty, doomed to fall,
Then to be cast aside.
Two lions fought beneath the sun...
For them, it was too late,
For soon, there'd only be the one
Who'd live to celebrate.
Each battle scar that's brought to mind,
Reminds him of this day...
The courage he was forced to find...
The price he had to pay...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'The Lion King'.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Anxious Dead
O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear
Above their heads the legions pressing on:
(These fought their fight in time of bitter fear,
And died not knowing how the day had gone.)
O flashing muzzles, pause, and let them see
The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar;
Then let your mighty chorus witness be
To them, and Caesar, that we still make war.
Tell them, O guns, that we have heard their call,
That we have sworn, and will not turn aside,
That we will onward till we win or fall,
That we will keep the faith for which they died.
Bid them be patient, and some day, anon,
They shall feel earth enwrapt in silence deep;
Shall greet, in wonderment, the quiet dawn,
And in content may turn them to their sleep.
poem by John McCrae
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Warrior's Pledge...
well, i've been to the mountain,
and i've walked through the valleys.
i've stood neath the cross
awaiting my turn.
i've heard the stories of children,
and the stories of old men.
there's not enough difference
for me to discern.
i've been to the battle,
and i've taken it to the streets.
i've been to the place,
where truth and dignity meet.
i've stood naked and alone,
and faced my sins.
i've felt the wrath of god,
known the ignorance of men.
i've worn boots of flesh,
and fought with my hands.
went back into the fire,
to save the last man.
slept with angels and demons alike,
drank the darkness, walked in the light.
found the right in wrong,
and the wrong in right....
as the storm clouds rage
on this face cut by age,
the mountains tremble,
and the rivers rage.
i'll stay to the end,
i'll turn the last page,
then catch a ride to the funeral
on the last stage....
i'll write the words of my heart,
with a pen dripping blood.
i'll cross the last river,
and stomp through the mud.
with the prayers of the children,
and the eyes of the hawk.
to the place of closeness,
where spirits can talk.
and stare deep and unashamed
into God's eyes.
and lay down my journey,
where the soul never dies.
where names be forgotten,
but hands clasp as one.
in the valley of darkness,
at the feet of the sun.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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With French to Kimberley
The Boers were down on Kimberley with siege and Maxim gun;
The Boers were down on Kimberley, their numbers ten to one!
Faint were the hopes the British had to make the struggle good --
Defenceless in an open plain the Diamond City stood.
They built them forts with bags of sand, they fought from roof and wall,
They flashed a message to the south, "Help! or the town must fall!"
Then down our ranks the order ran to march at dawn of day,
And French was off to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
He made no march along the line; he made no front attack
Upon those Magersfontein heights that held the Seaforths back;
But eastward over pathless plains, by open veldt and vley.
Across the front of Cronje's force his troopers held their way.
The springbuck, feeding on the flats where Modder River runs,
Were startled by his horses' hoofs, the rumble of his guns.
The Dutchman's spies that watched his march from every rocky wall
Rode back in haste: "He marches East! He threatens Jacobsdal!"
Then north he wheeled as wheels a hawk, and showed to their dismay
That French was off to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
His column was five thousand strong -- all mounted men -- and guns:
There met, beneath the world-wide flag, the world-wide Empire's sons;
They came to prove to all the earth that kinship conquers space,
And those who fight the British Isles must fight the British race!
From far New Zealand's flax and fern, from cold Canadian snows,
From Queensland plains, where hot as fire the summer sunshine glows --
And in front the Lancers rode that New South Wales had sent:
With easy stride across the plain their long, lean Walers went.
Unknown, untried, those squadrons were, but proudly out they drew
Beside the English regiments that fought at Waterloo.
From every coast, from every clime, they met in proud array
To go with French to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
He crossed the Reit and fought his way towards the Modder bank.
The foemen closed behind his march, and hung upon the flank.
The long, dry grass was all ablaze (and fierce the veldt fire runs);
He fought them through a wall of flame that blazed around the guns!
Then limbered up and drove at speed, though horses fell and died;
We might not halt for man nor beast on that wild, daring ride.
Black with the smoke and parched with thirst, we pressed the livelong day
Our headlong march to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
We reached the drift at fall of night, and camped across the ford.
Next day from all the hills around the Dutchman's cannon roared.
A narrow pass ran through the hills, with guns on either side;
The boldest man might well turn pale before that pass he tried,
For, if the first attack should fail, then every hope was gone:
Bur French looked once, and only once, and then he siad, "Push on!"
The gunners plied their guns amain; the hail of shrapnel flew;
With rifle fire and lancer charge their squadrons back we threw;
And through the pass between the hills we swept in furious fray,
And French was through to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
Ay, French was through to Kimberley! And ere the day was done
We saw the Diamond City stand, lit by the evening sun:
Above the town the heliograph hung like an eye of flame:
Around the town the foemen camped -- they knew not that we came;
But soon they saw us, rank on rank; they heard our squadrons' tread;
In panic fear they left their tents, in hopeless rout they fled --
And French rode into Kimberley; the people cheered amain,
The women came with tear-stained eyes to touch his bridle rein,
The starving children lined the streets to raise a feeble cheer,
The bells rang out a joyous peal to say "Relief is here!"
Ay! we that saw that stirring march are proud that we can say
We went with French to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A War To End All Wars, But Wasn’t
They not only fought the enemy,
but fought the elements as well.
They fought for their country
in lands far from home.
They fought rain, mud and the enemy
in trenches stained with blood
from those who had fallen there before.
They fought on and on
while the Generals watched
the slaughter from far away.
For their mistakes men died
by the score across the battlefield.
Their blood would stained the land
then and forever more.
Then came the gas
like a creeping mist across the battlefield
that silenced all in its wake.
It made no distinction to young or old,
just poisoned all it touched.
Their contorted bodies rotted where they fell.
They said this was a war to end all wars, but it wasn’t.
Almost twenty years later
men from different countries gathered to fight another war
and again in the trenches men fell.
The mechanics had changed;
machines became more prevalent across the battlefield,
still men died for small victories in the tide of war.
3 July 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Billy Get Your Guns
I just seen trouble
He's calling out your name tonite
Billy get your guns
You could walk away
But I know you were born to fight
So Billy get your guns
The bandileros are strung out
In the promenade
Billy get your guns
Chorus
Billy get your guns
There's trouble blowing like a hurricane
Billy get your guns
That's the price on your head for the
Price of fame
And it'll never change
Billy get your guns
There's a whiskey bottle empty
Sittin' on the bar
Billy get your guns
And some organ grinder singing
About some sucker moving on
Billy get your guns
All the whores are hanging out
Waiting to get paid
Billy get your guns
From some Johnny on the spot
Who said hey keep the change baby
Billy get your guns
There's trouble blowing like a hurricane
Billy get your guns
That's the price on your head for the
Price of fame
And it'll never change
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Patriot Returns
Battered and broken I return to you
My time spent in battle is finally through
My country served proudly, I stood the test
I fought side by side with our nations best
I am A soldier, A patriot, true to the cause
My American heart beats without pause
Any time any place any where
This soldier will stand tall and be there
I love my country and will protect her at all cost
I fight for the old, the young, the weak and the lost
I fight for an ideal that is greater than I
I don’t complain, or whine or ask why
But for the time being I am home with you
My duty served my task is thru
But I’ll be watching, over there and over here
And I’ll be putting a hand to my ear
For if ever this soldier is again called to fight
I’ll lace up my boots and do what’s right
Look out world the Devil Dogs are on hand
Ready to fight in the air, on the sea or on land
poem by James Waters
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A Warriors Poem
Here i stand upon this field
Here i stand alone
Here i stand upon this field of battle
Surrounded by my dead
Alone i stood
Alone i fought
Alone i stood
My enermy alone i faced
Here i stand to this day
Here i stand alone
My foe's i fought
My foe's i defeated
For i stand alone
upon this field of life
But not alone i stand
for about me stand my friend's
Comrades in arm's warriors all
Upon this field of life we Stand.
poem by Dragon Heart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where once - There now
Where once our young men fought so well,
Where once they stood and went through hell,
Where once they died and where they fell
There now politicians collect.
When the bullets flew red hot lead
Knew no favours as men fell dead
Screams the last sound they ever bled.
'Move that light, get the right effect.'
Shells whistling from armoured tanks
Toppled down with a pray of thanks
Offices, churches, homes and banks.
'Our politicians must not look old.'
In the ruined and wasted city
Fought an army shorn of pity,
Falling down like red confetti.
'That's better, now they look so bold.'
Where once flapped torn and bloodied coats
There now comes others seeking votes.
Where once men died with willing hands
There now a politician stands
Where once for freedom husbands died
There now has a politician lied.
Where once fell sons and lovers dear
There now falls a crocodiles tear.
poem by Paul Anthony
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give up the fight
Do you know what's worth fighting for?
When it's not worth dying for?
Does it take your breath away and you feel
yourself suffocating?
Does the pain weigh out the pride?
And you look for a place to hide?
Did someone break your heart
inside, you're in ruins
One,21 Guns
Lay down your arms
Give up the fight
One,21 Guns
Throw up your arms into the sky
You and I...
When you're at the end of the road
And you lost all sense of control
And your thoughts have taken their toll
When your mind breaks the spirit of your
soul
Your faith walks on broken glass and the
hangover doesn't pass
Nothing's ever built to last, you're in ruins
One,21 Guns
Lay down your arms
Give up the fight
One,21 Guns
Throw up your arms into the sky
You and I...
Did you try to live on your own?
When you burned down the house and
home?
Did you stand too close to the fire?
Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a
stone
When it's time to live and let die
And you can't get another try
Something inside this heart has died, you're
in ruins
One,21 Guns
Lay down your arms
Give up the fight
One,21 Guns
Throw up your arms into the sky
One,21 Guns
Lay down your arms
Give up the fight
One,21 Guns
Throw up your arms into the sky
You and I
poem by Pawan Kumar 'Meonlafesta'
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With French to Kimberley
The Boers were down on Kimberley with siege and Maxim gun;
The Boers were down on Kimberley, their numbers ten to one!
Faint were the hopes the British had to make the struggle good,
Defenceless in an open plain the Diamond City stood.
They built them forts from bags of sand, they fought from roof and wall,
They flashed a message to the south 'Help! or the town must fall!'
And down our ranks the order ran to march at dawn of day,
For French was off to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
He made no march along the line; he made no front attack
Upon those Magersfontein heights that drove the Scotchmen back;
But eastward over pathless plains by open veldt and vley,
Across the front of Cronje's force his troopers held their way.
The springbuck, feeding on the flats where Modder River runs,
Were startled by his horses' hoofs, the rumble of his guns.
The Dutchman's spies that watched his march from every rocky wall
Rode back in haste: 'He marches east! He threatens Jacobsdal!'
Then north he wheeled as wheels the hawk and showed to their dismay,
That French was off to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
His column was five thousand strong - all mounted men - and guns:
There met, beneath the world-wide flag, the world-wide Empire's sons;
They came to prove to all the earth that kinship conquers space,
And those who fight the British Isles must fight the British race!
From far New Zealand's flax and fern, from cold Canadian snows,
From Queensland plains, where hot as fire the summer sunshine glows;
And in the front the Lancers rode that New South Wales had sent:
With easy stride across the plain their long, lean Walers went.
Unknown, untried, those squadrons were, but proudly out they drew
Beside the English regiments that fought at Waterloo.
From every coast, from every clime, they met in proud array,
To go with French to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
He crossed the Reit and fought his way towards the Modder bank.
The foemen closed behind his march, and hung upon the flank.
The long, dry grass was all ablaze, and fierce the veldt fire runs;
He fought them through a wall of flame that blazed around the guns!
Then limbered up and drove at speed, though horses fell and died;
We might not halt for man nor beast on that wild, daring ride.
Black with the smoke and parched with thirst, we pressed the livelong day
Our headlong march to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
We reached the drift at fall of night, and camped across the ford.
Next day from all the hills around the Dutchman's cannons roared.
A narrow pass between the hills, with guns on either side;
The boldest man might well turn pale before that pass he tried,
For if the first attack should fail then every hope was gone:
But French looked once, and only once, and then he said, 'Push on!'
The gunners plied their guns amain; the hail of shrapnel flew;
With rifle fire and lancer charge their squadrons back we threw;
And through the pass between the hills we swept in furious fray,
And French was through to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
Ay, French was through to Kimberley! And ere the day was done
We saw the Diamond City stand, lit by the evening sun:
Above the town the heliograph hung like an eye of flame:
Around the town the foemen camped - they knew not that we came;
But soon they saw us, rank on rank; they heard our squadrons' tread;
In panic fear they left their tents, in hopeless rout they fled;
And French rode into Kimberley; the people cheered amain,
The women came with tear-stained eyes to touch his bridle rein,
The starving children lined the streets to raise a feeble cheer,
The bells rang out a joyous peal to say 'Relief is here!'
Ay! we that saw that stirring march are proud that we can say
We went with French to Kimberley to drive the Boers away.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wake Me!
Wake me when the war is over
Then tell me who won the fight,
“ hoorah ” for us if we have won,
and if we lost, then GOD wasn't on our side.
Then let me know just why we fought
And the reasons that we might die
Refresh my memory of this war once more
So never again must I ask why.
And if anyone asks if I did fight
While I was station way over there,
Thank them all and tell them of course I did
And thank them for keeping me in there prayer.
And tell them all no medals home will I bring
As I fought just for home and glory,
“MMM”, I like how that sounded
I think That will be my story.
I never fought for hate or for love
Never fought for the red, black, yellow or white
I never fought for riches or for wealth
I fought for my leaders, as they told me to fight.
Wake me when this war is over
Or tell me when the fighting is done
So I can discard my gun and put on my boots
And then head home, to my wife and son.
And tell them all I served my country well
Please tell them one lie after another
And tell them all I fought for GOD and Country
And also of course for my friends and mother.
And tell them while I was way over there
I fought hard each and every day
I killed for truth and I killed for justice
And every night for my sins to GOD I would pray.
So much sadness came from this war
Sadness I seen each and every way
How much I miss my family and home
And how I so hate in being afraid.
And when you do tell of my story
Don't tell it so sad to cause any to weep
Because during this war I did not a thing
Because as you know, all I did was sleep.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Golden Eagle
In the bottom of an old greasy swamp, lies a golden eagle, it's shine now covered in grime.
It lies here, forgotten witness of the brave few who dare to venture where none ever do.
This golden eagle, doth many scars bear, tis many grooves where swords did tear.
Came they from a terrible fight, on a cold blustery day, where the hope of an army was blown away.
Hundreds of weary hungry men, tramping through unfamiliar ground, when in the midst of an ambush they were found.
These weary men, they were tired and cold. They raised the swords, though outnumbered, they were bold.
As the barbarians tore through their withering lines, and as their screaming comrades were consumed by fire,
They gripped the swords, and bid their families farewell, stood back to back, as the enemy did into their columns hack.
In the midst of this carnage, floated the golden eagle, symbol of their hope, their integrity, dream, and goal.
Round the eagle, they now stood, desperately outnumbered by an enemy their distant commanders had misunderstood.
They gave no quarter, expected none. Rallied round that golden eagle, and held together as one.
That eagle, it witnessed the havoc that they made as the enemy in cascades came.
It saw their courage in the face of death. The things they gave when they had nothing left.
It saw the lions rise from their sleep, the final blaze of glory, the heroics that make us weep.
Though all hope was lost, they still fought on like it was there, the golden eagle the focus of their care.
Till finally, the last man had fallen. With his last breath threw the man the eagle into the water.
Never would it fall into enemy hands, it would be the silent witness of these fallen men.
Though defeated, yet they fought on. Though hope was gone, still they fought on and on.
Their dream they never let die, heros they died, heroes for which the people would cry.
Golden eagle, doesn't alway mean victory. But the golden eagle, will never give in.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Two Little Boots
TWO little boots all rough an' wo',
Two little boots!
Laws, I's kissed 'em times befo',
Dese little boots!
Seems de toes a-peepin' thoo
Dis hyeah hole an' sayin' 'Boo!'
Evah time dey looks at you —
Dese little boots.
Membah de time he put 'em on,
Dese little boots;
Riz an' called fu' 'em by dawn,
Dese little boots;
Den he tromped de livelong day,
Laffin' in his happy way,
Evaht'ing he had to say,
'My little boots!'
Kickin' de san' de whole day long,
Dem little boots;
Good de cobblah made 'em strong,
Dem little boots!
Rocks was fu' dat baby's use,
I'on had to stan' abuse
W'en you tu'ned dese champeens loose
Dese little boots!
Ust to make de ol' cat cry,
Dese little boots;
Den you walked it mighty high,
Proud little boots!
Ahms akimbo, stan'in' wide,
Eyes a-sayin' 'Dis is pride!'
Den de manny-baby stride!
You little boots.
Somehow, you don' seem so gay,
Po' little boots,
Sence yo' ownah went erway,
Po' little boots!
Yo' bright tops don' look so red,
Dese brass tips is dull an' dead;
'Goo'-by,' whut de baby said;
Deah little boots!
Ain't you kin' o' sad yo'se'f,
You little boots?
Dis is all his mammy's lef',
Two little boots.
Sence huh baby gone an' died,
Heav'n itse'f hit seem to hide
Des a little bit inside
Two little boots.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'Fragrant Offering
On the hill a Fragrant Offering stood.
The Son of God hung on a piece of wood.
The Earth grew dark and the sun hid its light
as men stood gazing at the gruesome sight.
It was in love for us that He had died.
when 'Father forgive them, ' out loud He cried.
Lowered His head and submitted to death
and gave up His life with His final breath.
A Fragrant Offering and sacrifice.
Out of love for us He has paid sins price.
Shed His blood that we might be forgiven
and opened the gateway into heaven.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
Morning Glory
Before the sunshine starts to boil,
The creatures greet the day.
Though sunshine makes night eyes recoil,
Their sleep must melt away...
A new day dawns, a billion yawns
And weary legs arise...
Each antelope then swings his horns,
Each crocodile then cries...
The insect armies rally round,
For new food must be sought
And many stir beneath the ground
Where battles must be fought...
The lions rise up from their sleep
With focused eyes once more,
A constant vigil now to keep,
As if they're keeping score.
Gaze now upon each noble face
That lions wear with pride,
The grace we see can quite amaze,
Despite our fears inside!
The big cats mesmerise us all,
With utmost majesty!
When they stand up, they're six feet tall
And that's too tall for me!
Like us, the lions live on Earth
Beneath the sun and moon,
Each generation has its birth,
Replaced by others soon...
But while we're here, our turn to live,
We seek the common good.
Our stewardship helps us to give
And do the things we should.
The lions share their portion, too...
Each lion has his story
And to conclude, I say to you,
Let's share the morning glory...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Morning Glory'.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heavenly Soldier
The soldier who died fighting
Now stood at Heavens gate
Would the Lord embrace him?
He waited for his fate
God now asked the soldier
Do you deserve a place
Here with these good people
From the human race?
The soldier thinks awhile
Then tells God his thought
No Lord I'm not perfect
But for my fellow man I fought
I carried a gun, I opened fire,
I threw a hand grenade
I didn't want to kill him
I knelt by him and prayed
I did all this in the call of duty
Killing was not my choice
The army called me up to fight
Me, and many boys
See dear lord I am not bad
For my country I had to serve
I stood shaking, terrified
But I couldn't lose my nerve
The Lord by now had heard enough
His judgement he had made
Come in my son walk through here
Come join the heavenly parade
So now the soldier marches on
Burdens taken from his shoulders
Happy in Heaven serving God
With other fallen soldiers
When Time Stood Still
Far beyond the things you see
Time rolls on eternally
Got a thing about it
Just cant live without it
Sitting there inside your mind
Just waiting for the clock to chime
On a lonely line
Stood a lonely man
No pictures on an empty wall
No body there no one at all
Just echoes in the ivory halls
When time stood still
Days line up outside the door
Thought time had stopped there was no more
Been a lonely world
Such a lonely world
No pictures on an empty wall
No toulouse, vincent, or pablo
Just echoes in the ivory halls
When time stood still
No big machine or april showers
No submarines no plastic flowers
Just echoes in the ivory towers
When time stood still
When time stood still
When time stood still
When time stood still
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Irish Soldier
The Irish soldier, cast for fight,
Stood to his arms at dead of night,
Watching the east, until its ray
To the battle--field should show his way;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though they call you slave,
And though you but help a bandit hand
Uncheck'd to kill in your native land.
The soldier thought on his chance of doom--
How the trampled sod might be his tomb--
How, in evening's dusk, his sightless stare
To the small pale stars might upward glare;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though you think of the grave--
Though it yawn so near you, black and chill,
Honor and courage man you still.
And o'er his solemn brow he made
The Christian sign, and humbly said--
``Your prayers, good saints, if I should fall;
And for mercy, O Lord, on you I call!''--
Irish soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight, although you crave
The prayers of the saints your own to aid,
And the sign of the cross on your brow have made.
The morning broke--the bugle blew--
The voice of command the soldier knew,
And stern and straight in the van he stood,
And shouting, he rush'd to the work of blood;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
Thousands lay round you, crimson'd and cold--
But over their bodies you still fought on,
Till down you sank as the day was won.
And the Irish soldier now hath come,
Worn, and wounded, and crippled, home,
The hated, and slander'd, and scorn'd of those
Who safely slept while he faced their foes;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
In your native land you now are told
'Twas traitor--blood on that field you lost,
For you call'd on the saints, and your brow you cross'd!
poem by John Banim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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