A man's country is not a certain area of land, of mountains, rivers, and woods, but it is a principle and patriotism is loyalty to that principle.
Our cheer goes back to them, the valiant dead! Laurels and roses on their graves to-day, lilies and laurels over them we lay, and violets o'er each unforgotten head.
Valor is a gift. Those having it never know for sure whether they have it till the test comes. And those having it in one test never know for sure if they will have it when the next test comes.
The most persistent sound which reverberates through man's history is the beating of war drums.
When our perils are past, shall our gratitude sleep?
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below
Valor is a gift. Those having it never know for sure whether they have it until the test comes.
In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from falling hands we throw.
Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.
We thought: we're poor, we have nothing, but when we started losing one after the other so each day became remembrance day, we started composing poems about God's great generosity and our former riches.
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