The Standard Bearer

In honor of this Veterans Day, of 11-11-11, and of my 40th post on this blog, I decided I would put a poem here that is very near and dear to my heart.
This poem was one that I started more than four years ago.  Since then I've rewritten it several times, expanding and refining it, though the story and message have remained the same.  It is now my longest poem by far, with fifty stanzas of four lines each and just over one-thousand words, and holds a place in my top three favorite of any I've written.  Along the way I've had help from several friends with turning it into the piece it is now.  This post is in part dedicated to them, though I will preserve their anonymity.
It was with this poem that I won an international award last year (the same contest I finalized in this year,) and I got to perform it in front of a crowd of several hundred at the awards ceremony.  It was a very wonderful and memorable experience, one for which I am very grateful.
The story of how this allegorical poem came about is thus: I was listening to a Christian-themed song; one of the lines talked about lifting the standard when there was no one else around.  At that point I had an experience which is extremely rare for me; an image appeared in my mind of a young boy facing an opposing army, holding a tattered flag (also known as a standard.)  In an hour or so the first version was completed.
I apologize for the long introduction, but this is one poem I felt needed some preface.  I would appreciate your comments; let me know what you think and feel.  So, without further ado, here is "The Standard Bearer."

A young, unseasoned warrior
upon the field did stand;
waiting for his captain
to give his first command.

The battle hadn’t started
when the captain gave his charge.
"You're to hold this flag up steady
despite gunfire, small or large."

Then he gave o’er the battle standard
(with its colors brave and true,)
saying "Stand upon this hill, my lad,
till death or I release you."

The boy then grasped the banner
with his heart and face alight.
Though the battle hadn’t come yet,
he was sure they'd win the fight.

For theirs was a battle
for land and liberty,
guarding from invaders
from another country.

He was glad to do his part
and to cheer the soldiers on;
for as long as he stood on that hill
the enemy had not won.

With daybreak came the trumpets,
and the troops were in array.
The sun had barely risen
when all had joined the fray.

The battle still was going strong
when the sun had reached its height;
now its cruel, uncaring rays
were burning with their might.

How hot it was upon the field!
And the boy, his lips were parched.
But yet he stood steadfastly,
as the soldiers ‘round him marched.

The afternoon was wearing on.
He soon forgot his thirst;
for explosions all around him
had now begun to burst.

The fight, ‘twas going badly,
the victory switching sides.
All ‘round the boy came fleeing back
the men, in rising tides.

"Stand firm for your country!"
(He called to urge them on.)
“Yet, e’en though I stand alone,
I'll still be her true son!"

The bullets were screaming closer,
they tugged his hat and coat.
The cannons roared the louder,
‘round his feet they dug a moat.

The captain saw the danger,
and he rushed to our dear boy’s aid;
but, before he could quite reach him,
to the ground the man was laid.

The boy never saw his leader
fall onto the ground;
his eyes were on the enemy,
his ears upon their sound.

A sound, oh how frightening,
‘twas the cries of demon-men
who did the work of terror,
and found glory therein.

They drew on ever closer,
like a roaring prairie fire;
stirring in the lonely boy
a coward’s base desire;

to run like the wind,
to flee from their sight;
and yet he stood fast
and held his standard tight.

The flag was violently waving,
though there was nary a breeze;
‘twas lead shot that sent it stirring,
their buzz - like angry bees.

But still our boy stood steady;
firm and unmoving was he!
Though standard-bearers ‘round him
had long since begun to flee.

There was only one other standing;
then, with a blast, he too was gone.
Our dear boy shook with terror;
he was now the only one.

It seemed every gun was aimed at him;
oh, how he yearned to run!
Slowly he lowered his standard,
despairing "It’s over. I’m done."

Then came the words of his captain,
"Don’t fall until you die."
Up swiftly came the banner
and he screamed the battle cry!

"For liberty, land and family!
For all that you hold dear!
For all that is worth fighting for,
show your weapons, not your fear!"

It flew with tongues of lightning,
from one voice to the next,
stirring iron into the hearts
that by fear were vexed.

One small cry, heard by many,
did change the tides of war.
Swiftly men came flooding back,
recalling what they fought for.

And with the strength of dragons
the enemy they did beat;
back quickly fled those scoundrels,
in terror and retreat.

"Victory," thought the boy,
"I didn’t fight in vain.
It was worth the danger,
it was worth the pain."

Just then, as they surrendered,
someone fired a parting round;
it lodged deep within the heart
of our boy upon the mound.

The joyous cry of victory
was cut short from his lips.
Then slowly, but surely,
the banner began to slip.

His fading life-clock, ticking,
began to fast unwind.
A thousand, sweetest mem'ries
and thoughts flash through his mind.

‘Twas time spent with the families
that he was fighting for,
both with the one he now had,
and the one no more in store.

The wife he’d never have,
children he’d never hold;
a tear sank down his cheek
as his hands grew cold.

Now all that he can see
is the terror that he fought,
not the several men
but the evil that they sought.

An evil just as faceless
as the violent, massing hoard,
an evil that says, "Virtue,
is something you can’t afford."

Denying men the freedom
to make themselves free;
a freedom gained by living
strict lives of purity.

He looked up at the banner
and saw, not a flag much torn,
but the many virtues
the world mocks with scorn.

For oft betimes ‘tis heavy,
and oh, so cumbersome,
to carry close your honor,
despite what e'er may come.

And loyalty and truth
are then called "out of date"
by those who, forever,
the narrow path do hate,

And chastity, strength-giver,
is scorned by the weak,
who live only for themselves,
thus losing what they seek.

Patriotism grows heavy
before the firing-line,
like the standard-pole
the boy's fingers did entwine.

It would be so easy
to let go and go numb.
Oh, to just give up
and to death succumb.

No! With his dying strength
he planted it in the ground!
Then, without a single moan,
he joined the dead all ‘round.

His life ended with the day;
but, as the sun went down,
his spirit left his body
and calmly looked around.

Then steadily rose his spirit
to stand above the plain.
His captain also had perished
and now they meet again.

"Well done, my young hero,
you bravely held your station.
Before you go to your reward
I have for you one question."

"Why didn’t you run with the rest?
You didn’t have to die."
"I have no regret," the boy said,
"I held my standard high."

"I was fighting in a cause
far greater than you or me.
I stood my ground, facing fear;
I’m glad I didn’t flee. "

They found the lad upon the mound,
the flag still in its place.
A calm little smile was still upon
our good young hero’s face.

They buried him on the hill;
by his stone the flag did fly.
By his name were etched these words,
"He held his standard high!"

David Jamison

Mortality

Here is another poem quoted in the broadcast I mentioned in my last post.  The first stanza was all they used, but I felt the whole thing was worth sharing.

This poem is said to have been the favorite of President Abraham Lincoln, one of the greatest leaders of our country, and a personal hero of mine. 

He is said to have once remarked, "I would give all I am worth, and go in debt, to be able to write so fine a piece as I think that is."  Do not all poets feel so, when faced with such elegance?  Do we not all long to be given the power to convey that which lies in the depths of our hearts?  I know I do.

 

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,

A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,

Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave.

 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,

Be scattered around, and together be laid;

And the young and the old, and the low and the high

Shall molder to dust and together shall lie.

 

The infant a mother attended and loved;

The mother that infant's affection who proved;

The husband that mother and infant who blessed,--

Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.

 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,

Shone beauty and pleasure,--her triumphs are by;

And the memory of those who loved her and praised

Are alike from the minds of the living erased.

 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne;

The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn;

The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,

Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.

 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap;

The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep;

The beggar who wandered in search of his bread,

Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

 

The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven;

The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven;

The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,

Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.

 

So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed

That withers away to let others succeed;

So the multitude comes, even those we behold,

To repeat every tale that has often been told.

 

For we are the same our fathers have been;

We see the same sights our fathers have seen;

We drink the same stream, and view the same sun,

And run the same course our fathers have run.

 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;

From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink;

To the life we are clinging they also would cling;

But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.

 

They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;

The scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;

They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come;

They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.

 

They died, aye! they died; and we things that are now,

Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,

Who make in their dwelling a transient abode,

Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.

 

Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,

We mingle together in sunshine and rain;

And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge,

Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.

 

'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,

From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,

From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,--

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

William Knox

Nearer, my God to Thee

This well-known Christian hymn is one of my favorites.  I find great solace in its words, and wished to share them with you tonight.  I will be conducting a church choir in singing this in a few weeks, and that brought it back to the forefront of my mind. 
A famous, favored piece for over a century-and-a-half, it is thought that the music for this poem was played as the RMS Titanic sank beneath the ocean waves. 
In living or dying, these words bring peace, as it assures us of the truth that God is always there for us, stretching out His hand for us to come nearer, nearer to Him.

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!
E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,
still all my song shall be,
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
yet in my dreams I'd be
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

There let the way appear, steps unto heaven;
all that thou sendest me, in mercy given;
angels to beckon me
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

Then, with my waking thoughts bright with thy praise,
out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise;
so by my woes to be
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

Or if, on joyful wing cleaving the sky,
sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I fly,
still all my song shall be,
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

Sarah F. Adams

Surprise, surprise!

I've been posting now for just less than two months.  To all my readers out there, what do you think so far?  What would you like to see posted here?  What do you want more or less of?
I came across this poem today.  It brought a bit of a smile to my face; I have to ask myself, will that be the reaction I get when my time comes?
 
I dreamed death came to me last night
and Heaven's gate swung wide,
with kindly grace an angel came
and ushered me inside!
And there...to my astonishment
stood folks I'd known on earth,
Some I judged and called "unfit"
and some of little worth;
Indignant words rose to my lips
But never were set free;
For every face showed stunned surprise...
Not one expected me!

Author Unknown

Psalm 23

As I have said before, death makes you look at things from a different perspective.  And a funeral does that even more; for then the news of the person's death is real, then it really means that they've gone from this life into another.
For this post I am including a passage from the Holy Bible.  While it doesn't follow the usual rules of poetry that I apply to my writing, it is as touching as anything written by modern poets.
I know that somewhere out there, on the other side of my computer screen, there is someone going through the same thing I am at this very moment.  If you are that person, I hope that this helps you find comfort, as it has me.

The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil:
For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou anointest my head with oil;
My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

King David, the Psalmist

Death...

The death of a loved one makes you look at life differently.  Especially when that death comes too early.  It takes the breath out of your lungs, leaving you unsure how to progress from where you are, wondering how to move on.
In the words of Madame de Stael, "we understand Death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love."  So it is for me.  Today I lost someone very close to me.
I am a Christian, and I believe in the Resurrection with all my heart.  I have no doubts that I will see this dear one again, but still I feel the ache, still I sorrow.  I don't sorrow for them - I know they are with a loving God in Heaven now - I sorrow for their family, for all those left behind.
Good-bye dear little one; God be with you, and with us, till we meet again.