Philippians 4:8, "Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things."

Saturday, March 20, 2004

During my time in the service, I came to conclude that there were two kinds of soldiers: those who get it, and those who don't. Those who get it have a sense of esprit de corps and an understanding of what it means to serve our country even to the point of self-sacrifice. Marine Lt. Benjamin Klay gets it. Semper Fi, and thanks to Powerline for the link.

The Spirit of Grand Strategy

Grown up language alert, but it's worth every bleeping word. If you've been to Quantico, you'll get flashbacks.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

And from the whimsical side (it's so much better when you know the tune):


You all know my big brother and his Christian name is Paul
He's lately joined a football club for he's mad about football.
He's got two black eyes already and teeth out from his gob
Since Paul became a member of the gaelic football club

He's football crazy, He's football mad.
The football it has taken away the little bit of sense he had
And it would take a dozen servants to wash his clothes and scrub
Since Paul became a member of the gaelic football club.

The first match that he played at, I was there myself and saw
Two turf sods for goalposts and a tin can for a ball
The Lord Mayor he was there, himself, and Lords and Ladies grand
And Paul got an orange box and made a Hogan stand

In the middle of the field one afternoon the captain said to Paul
Would you kindly take this place kick since you’re mad about football
And he took 40 paces backwards and shot off from the mark
And the ball went sailin’ over the bar and landed in New York

His wife she says she'll leave him if Paul doesn't keep
Away from football kicking at night time in his sleep
He calls out, “That’s a fifty,” and other things so droll
Last night he shot her out of bed and swore it was a goal
What better way to return to blogging?

The Battle Eve of the Irish Brigade

by Thomas Davis:

THE mess-tent is full, and the glasses are set,
And the gallant Count Thomond is president yet;
The vet’ran arose, like an uplifted lance,
Crying—“Comrades, a health to the monarch of France!”
With bumpers and cheers they have done as he bade 5
For King Louis is loved by the Irish Brigade.

“A health to King James,” and they bent as they quaffed,
“Here’s to George the Elector,” and fiercely they laughed,
“Good luck to the girls we wooed long ago,
Where Shannon, and Barrow, and Blackwater flow;” 10
“God prosper Old Ireland,”—you’d think them afraid,
So pale grew the chiefs of the Irish Brigade.

“But surely, that light cannot be from our lamp
And that noise—are they all getting drunk in the camp?”
“Hurrah! boys, the morning of battle is come, 15
And the generale’s beating on many a drum.”
So they rush from the revel to join the parade:
For the van is the right of the Irish Brigade.

They fought as they revelled, fast, fiery and true,
And, though victors, they left on the field not a few; 20
And they, who survived, fought and drank as of yore,
But the land of their heart’s hope they never saw more;
For in far foreign fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade,
Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade.