National Poetry Month, Day 8

Far From Love The Heavenly Father

Emily Dickinson

 Far from love the Heavenly Father

    Leads the chosen child;

 Oftener through realm of briar

    Than the meadow mild,

  

 Oftener by the claw of dragon

    Than the hand of friend,

 Guides the little one predestined

    To the native land.

“I know that my Redeemer liveth”

The Christian's great hope in the promise of the resurrection, celebrated in Handel's exalting oratorio, makes this my favorite aria from The Messiah (this month commemorates The Messiah's first performance 270 years ago).

“I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God” (Job 19:25).
“For now is Christ risen from the dead, the first-fruits of them that sleep” (I Corinthians 15:20).

Also memorable to me... it was a year ago, that my wife, Pat, was privileged to accompany opera star, Susan Graham, who sang this aria at our little congregation's Easter celebration.

National Poetry Month, Day 7

Henry V’s Speech at Agincourt William Shakespeare What’s he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin; If we are mark’d to die, we are enow To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more methinks would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man’s company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call’d the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian.” Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.” Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he’ll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

National Poetry Month, Day 6

Shiloh: A Requiem (April, 1862)

Herman Melville

Skimming lightly, wheeling still,

  The swallows fly low

Over the field in clouded days,

  The forest-field of Shiloh—

Over the field where April rain

Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain

Through the pause of night

That followed the Sunday fight

  Around the church of Shiloh—

The church so lone, the log-built one,

That echoed to many a parting groan

    And natural prayer

Of dying foemen mingled there—

Foemen at morn, but friends at eve—

  Fame or country least their care:

(What like a bullet can undeceive!)

  But now they lie low,

While over them the swallows skim,

  And all is hushed at Shiloh.

Remembering bloody Shiloh

Today is the sesquicentennial of the start of the 2-day Battle of Shiloh. Our public library was kind enough to order for me Winston Groom’s new book, Shiloh 1862, and I actually picked it up this morning. I really enjoyed his previous book on the Battle of Franklin (Shrouds of Glory), and I am just as excited about the new one.

In April 1862, the War Between the States had been going on for nearly a year. Many Americans still believed that it “would be over by Christmas.” But the dreadful Battle of Shiloh was about to change all that. While earlier battles in the East had been costly, nothing that had happened before could have prepared Americans—Northerners or Southern-ers—for the appalling loss of lives at Shiloh. More than 100,000 soldiers fought on Sunday and Monday, April 6-7, 1862.

The struggle took place in the 12 square miles that comprised Pittsburg Landing, a small stretch of waterfront on the west bank of the Tennessee River. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant's army of 40,000 was waiting here for Gen. Don Carlos Buell and his 35,000, reinforcements, in preparation for an attack on the Confederate position at Corinth, Mississippi. Confederate General Albert Sidney Johnston, with his army of 44,000, was determined to hit Grant's forces before they could be reenforced. According to the National Park Service, when the battle was over, nearly 23,746 Americans were dead, wounded, or missing. There were more casualties at Shiloh than from all previous American wars combined.

Pittsburg Landing today

My great grandfather, Nathan Oakes, one of the thousands of new recruits assembling in Corinth, Mississippi, 20 miles south of the battlefield, did not participate due to the fact that his regiment, the 32nd Mississippi Infantry, was not yet equipped nor armed. The regiment did, however, receive Union prisoners, about 2,200 from Gen. Prentiss's division, that were captured in the fight at the famed "Hornet's Nest."

View from the "Hornet's Nest"

along the "Sunken Road"

Near the "Hornet's Nest" Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston was killed on the first day. His death would create a serious setback for the Southern army, changing the course of the present battle and perhaps the rest of the war. While leading an attack at the "Peach Orchard," Johnston was shot in the left leg. Not believing the wound to be serious, he dismissed his surgeon to care for wounded Union soldiers, and continued leading the Rebel attack. But within the hour, he bled to death.

   ________________________________________________________________________

To view my blog about Great Grandfather Nathan Oakes and the 32nd Mississippi Infantry Regiment, please visit: http://32ndmississippi.blogspot.com

________________________________________________________________________

National Poetry Month, Day 5

Ozymandias

Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:

'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away."

National Poetry Month, Day 4

The World

George Herbert

Love built a stately house, where Fortune came,

And spinning fancies, she was heard to say

That her fine cobwebs did support the frame,

Whereas they were supported by the same;

But Wisdom quickly swept them all away.

The Pleasure came, who, liking not the fashion,

Began to make balconies, terraces,

Till she had weakened all by alteration;

But reverend laws, and many a proclomation

Reforméd all at length with menaces.

Then entered Sin, and with that sycamore

Whose leaves first sheltered man from drought and dew,

Working and winding slily evermore,

The inward walls and summers cleft and tore;

But Grace shored these, and cut that as it grew.

Then Sin combined with death in a firm band,

To raze the building to the very floor;

Which they effected,--none could them withstand;

But Love and Grace took Glory by the hand,

And built a braver palace than before.

National Poetry Month, Day 3

Surprised by Joy

William Wordsworth

Surprised by joy—impatient as the wind

I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom

But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,

That spot which no vicissitude can find?

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind -

But how could I forget thee? Through what power,

Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return

Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore

Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;

That neither present time, nor years unborn,

Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

National Poetry Month, Day 2

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Transfer back to Vestal

According to his service records, on this date, my dad, Frank Dolan, was transferred back to the USS Vestal, having completed repairs over the last month on the cruiser Indianapolis, following its battles in Japanese-dominated waters in New Guinea. The Indianapolis was prepared at Pearl Harbor for a trip to the Mare Island Naval Shipyard in California for overhaul and refit.