I was tagged by Cait
… to go to the fourth picture folder on my computer and pick the fourth picture, post it here, and explain it.
I’m not going to tag anyone, but if you would like to participate go ahead. 🙂
I started doing the first part of my American history syllabus for highschool a few weeks ago. So far it’s been mostly lectures by Dr. Grant and readings from the Patriot’s Handbook. … and now I’m getting excited about writing my research paper. I’m pretty sure I’m going to do it on why the War for Independence was not a revolution… but that’s just the surface.
Anyway, Dr. Grant read a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier called “Lexington” that I really enjoyed.
No Berserk thirst of blood had they, No battle-joy was theirs, who set Against the alien bayonet Their homespun breasts in that old day. Their feet had trodden peaceful, ways; They loved not strife, they dreaded pain; They saw not, what to us is plain, That God would make man's wrath his praise. No seers were they, but simple men; Its vast results the future hid The meaning of the work they did Was strange and dark and doubtful then. Swift as their summons came they left The plough mid-furrow standing still, The half-ground corn grist in the mill, The spade in earth, the axe in cleft. They went where duty seemed to call, They scarcely asked the reason why; They only knew they could but die, And death was not the worst of all! Of man for man the sacrifice, All that was theirs to give, they gave. The flowers that blossomed from their grave Have sown themselves beneath all skies. Their death-shot shook the feudal tower, And shattered slavery's chain as well; On the sky's dome, as on a bell, Its echo struck the world's great hour. That fateful echo is not dumb The nations listening to its sound Wait, from a century's vantage-ground, The holier triumphs yet to come,-- The bridal time of Law and Love, The gladness of the world's release, When, war-sick, at the feet of Peace The hawk shall nestle with the dove!-- The golden age of brotherhood Unknown to other rivalries Than of the mild humanities, And gracious interchange of good, When closer strand shall lean to strand, Till meet, beneath saluting flags, The eagle of our mountain-crags, The lion of our Motherland!
We over here had a very wonderful, meaningful Christmas. 🙂 I hope yours was, too.
Bail o dia ort