The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die, <br />To face the flaming cannon's mouth, nor ever question why, <br />Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red, <br />The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed, <br />The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall: <br />'Tis these that make a soldier great. He's fighting for them all. <br /> <br />'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave; <br />'Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may wave; <br />For soldiers never fight so well on land or on the foam <br />As when behind the cause they see the little place called home. <br />Endanger but that humble street whereon his children run— <br />You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun. <br /> <br />What is it through the battle smoke the valiant soldier sees? <br />The little garden far away, the budding apple trees, <br />The little patch of ground back there, the children at their play, <br />Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church of gray. <br />The golden thread of courage isn't linked to castle dome <br />But to the spot, where'er it be—the humble spot called home. <br /> <br />And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there, <br />And homesick soldiers far away know spring is in the air; <br />The tulips come to bloom again, the grass once more is green, <br />And every man can see the spot where all his joys have been. <br />He sees his children smile at him, he hears the bugle call, <br />And only death can stop him now—he's fighting for them all.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-things-that-make-a-soldier-great/
