He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in
And the deeds that he had done.
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, everyone.
And 'tho to his neighbors,
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened,
For they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer,
For a soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Quietly going on his way;
And the world won't note his passing;
'tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories,
From the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier,
Goes unnoticed, and unsung
Is the greatest contribution,
To the welfare of our land,
Someone who breaks promises
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow,
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country
And offers up his life?
The politician's title
And the style in which he lives,
Are sometimes disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It is so easy to forget them,
For it was so long ago,
That husbands, sons and fathers
Went to battle, but we know.
It was not the politicians,
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom,
That our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you want some politician
With his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Soldier,
Who has sworn to defend,
His home, his kin, his Country,
And would fight until the end?
He was just a common Soldier
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us,
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
Then we find the Soldier's part,
Is to clean up all the troubles,
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor,
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage,
At the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline,
in the paper that might say:
OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
FOR A SOLDIER DIED TODAY.
author unknown
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet stuck him in the heart and he died instantly.
He often talked about you, and your love for art. The young man held out his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."
The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting.
The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected. The man died a few months later.
There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. "We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?" There was silence.
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted. "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one." But the auctioneer persisted.
"Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?" Another voice shouted angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh's, the Rembrandt's. Get on with the real bids!"
But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the long-time gardener of the man and his son. Cotillion "I'll give $10 for the painting." Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. "We have $10, who will bid$20?"
"Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters." "$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?" The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!" A man sitting on the second row shouted. "Now let's get on with the collection!"
The auctioneer laid down his gavel.
"I'm sorry, the auction is over." "What about the paintings?" "I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time.
Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son gets every thing!"
God gave his son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is,
"The son, the son, who'll take the son?" Because you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.
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