THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY
George Smith Patton
(1909-1945)
Through
the travail of the ages,
Midst the
pomp and toil of war,
Have I
fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon this star.
In the
form of many people
In all
panoplies of time
Have I seen
the luring vision
Of the Victory Maid, sublime.
I have
battled for fresh mammoth,
I have
warred for pastures new,
I have
listed to the whispers
When the race trek instinct grew.
I have
known the call to battle
In each
changeless changing shape
From the
high souled voice of conscience
To the beastly lust for rape.
I have
sinned and I have suffered,
Played
the hero and the knave;
Fought
for belly, shame, or country,
And for
each have found a grave.
I cannot
name my battles
For the
visions are not clear,
Yet, I
see the twisted faces
And I
feel the rending spear.
Perhaps I
stabbed our Savior
In His sacred helpless side.
Yet, I've
called His name in blessing
When
after times I died.
In the
dimness of the shadows
Where we
hairy heathens warred,
I can
taste in thought the lifeblood;
We used
teeth before the sword.
While in
later clearer vision
I can
sense the coppery sweat,
Feel the
pikes grow wet and slippery
When our Phalanx, Cyrus met.
Hear the
rattle of the harness
Where the
Persian darts bounced clear,
See their
chariots wheel in panic
From the Hoplite's leveled spear.
See the
goal grow monthly longer,
Reaching for the walls of
Hear the
crash of tons of granite,
Smell the
quenchless eastern fire.
Still
more clearly as a Roman,
Can I see
the Legion close,
As our
third rank moved in forward
And the
short sword found our foes.
Once
again I feel the anguish
Of that
blistering treeless plain
When the
Parthian showered death bolts,
And our
discipline was in vain.
I
remember all the suffering
Of those arrows in my neck.
Yet, I
stabbed a grinning savage
As I died upon my back.
Once
again I smell the heat sparks
When my flemish plate gave way
And the
lance ripped through my entrails
As on
In the
windless, blinding stillness
Of the
glittering tropic sea
I can see
the bubbles rising
Where we set the captives free.
Midst the
spume of half a tempest
I have
heard the bulwarks go
When the
crashing, point blank round shot
Sent destruction to our foe.
I have
fought with gun and cutlass
On the
red and slippery deck
With all
Hell aflame within me
And a rope around my neck.
And still
later as a General
Have I
galloped with Murat
When we
laughed at death and numbers
Trusting in the Emperor's Star.
Till at
last our star faded,
And we
shouted to our doom
Where the
sunken road of Ohein
Closed us
in it's quivering gloom.
So but
now with Tanks a'clatter
Have I
waddled on the foe
Belching
death at twenty paces,
By the star shell's ghastly glow.
So as
through a glass, and darkly
The age
long strife I see
Where I
fought in many guises,
Many names, -- but always me.
And I see
not in my blindness
What the
objects were I wrought,
But as
God rules o'er our bickerings
It was
through His will I fought.
So
forever in the future,
Shall I
battle as of yore,
Dying to
be born a fighter,
But to die again, once more.