The Things That Make A Soldier Great
Edgar A Guest
pansys pansys

The things that make a soldier great
and send him out to die,
To face the flaming cannon's mouth
nor ever question why,
Are lilacs by a little porch,
the row of tulips red,
The peonies and pansies, too,
the old petunia bed,
The grass plot where his children play,
the roses on the wall:
'Tis these that make a soldier great.
He's fighting for them all.
'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings
that make a soldier brave;
'Tis not allegiance to the flag
that over him may wave;
For soldiers never fight so well
on land or on the foam
As when behind the cause they see
the little place called home.
Endanger but that humble street
whereon his children run,
You make a soldier of the man
who never bore a gun.
What is it through the battle smoke
the valiant solider sees?
The little garden far away,
the budding apple trees,
The little patch of ground back there,
the children at their play,
Perhaps a tiny mound behind
the simple church of gray.
The golden thread of courage
isn't linked to castle dome
But to the spot, where'er it be --
the humblest spot called home.
And now the lilacs bud again
and all is lovely there
And homesick soldiers far away
know spring is in the air;
The tulips come to bloom again,
the grass once more is green,
And every man can see the spot
where all his joys have been.
He sees his children smile at him,
he hears the bugle call,
And only death can stop him now --
he's fighting for them all.
pansys pansys








































































































pansys God Bless America      
            God Bless You






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