Bivouac of the Dead

In God's portrait gallery of great leaders, none would be found greater than that of Moses after being reared as the son of Pharoah's daughter. (Probably Queen Hatshepsut, first woman pharaoh, whose temple is in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt, which I visited while the temple was being excavated) He removed his shoes because before God, he was on holy ground. (Exodus 3)

Carved into the arch leading into our most famous holy ground, Arlington Cemetery, are these words: “Rest on embalmed and sainted dead! Dear as the blood ye gave; No impious footstep here shall tread the herbage of your grave” The total number buried there is about 300,000, 6400 interred each year, around 20 each day. These heroes of our country, Generals or Privates, buried in an eternal Military Bivouac, so honored in burial by their country, would rise up and ask the most important question in today's world, “What has happened to our country? Have you folks gone completely insane?”

Three weeks before he died, home for Christmas vacation from college, I was assisting an old Uncle in getting my oldest Uncle dressed for my grandfather's funeral. In the room, where he had slept every night of his 80 years (as far as I know, he had never been away from the home in which he was born) I realized he had never owned but one pair of dress shoes, which he had always worn to church. He could have afforded anything, but I thought of the many churches in the community which he had supported, the many family members he had subsidized. You see, there are two types of personalities in existence, the needy and the greedy. He had a need to help others.

Recent news flashes tell us of men who have a greed to take advantage of others. The greedy have never known the splendors of want. How well I remember, during the Great Depression, my father resoling our shoes. In a news broadcast from China, a commentator talked about China's reluctance to continue with financial obligations to our country because any country, without the demanding regulations of control pertaining to bonds, securities, money supplies, could little be trusted with any money borrowed from China. Our financial system is obviously in complete disarray, completely disorganized. If there has ever been a case of the 'left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing', look at the US Treasury Department, Federal Reserve, such supposed educated 'pen pushers' as Greenspan, Bernake, Paulson, Gieger. It is an insult to every hard working taxpayer, and should be an embarrassment to every elected official, in and out of the Beltway, that in this age of sophisticated computers, universities boasting schools of business, constant programs on television and every electronic medium supposedly keeping the public informed about investments and investing, that we have this barrage of non-accountability, millions of dollars of bonds found in other countries, and billions scammed from hard working investors. Where is Steve Forbes, the editors at Barons and Business Week? We don't expect intelligence from Charles Rangle, Tom Daschle, Jack Mertha, Maxine Waters, or even Reverend Jeremiah Wright and other liberal so called 'ministers', who should be holding feet to the fires of morality. Are there any investigative reporters left? Are there any inquisitive regulators? Are there any oversight committees?

IS THERE ANY HONESTY LEFT IN GOVERNMENT??

The Madoff swindle is the largest scam in history. Nothing else in history, not even the theft of all the Jewish art in Europe, not the theft of most of the gold in Europe (which is now in Russia), the extent of the Madoff scam even made the 500 Saudia Arabian Princes feel like they'd been shopping at the dollar store. Just wait until word gets around that certain paper, certain printing, certain forgeries, are taking place with US bonds held by foreign governments now being fostered on the open counterfeit money markets and we will see just how rapidly our currency will tumble. Even politicians have seen in Madoff, Stanford and Ensign (Nevada Senator), moral corruption they do not want to see in themselves. George Washington, in his farewell address said, “When American loses its religion and morality, it will no longer be great.”



The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents to spread,
And glory guards, with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dreams alarms;
No braying horn or screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shriveled swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed,
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout, are past;
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the fierce Northern hurricane
That sweeps the great plateau,
Flushed with triumph, yet to gain,
Come down the serried foe,
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew the watchword of the day
Was "Victory or death!"
Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the glory tide;
Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.
Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his beloved land,
The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their father's gore
His first-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.
For many a mother's breath has swept
O'er Angostura's plain --
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its moldered slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,
Or shepherd's pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil --
The ashes of her brave.
Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field,
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast
On many a bloody shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes sepulcher.
Rest on embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
For honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanquished ago has flown,
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor time's remorseless doom,
Can dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.
(Theodore O'Hara)