It's a long way to Tipperary, it's a long way to go;
It's a long way to Tipperary, to the sweetest girl I know!
Good-bye to Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square;
It's a long way to Tipperary, but my Heart's right there!
War is only a sort of dramatic representation, a sort of dramatic symbol of a thousand forms or duty. I fancy that it is just as hard to do your duty when men are sneering at you as when they are shooting at you.
You have laid upon me this double obligation: "we are relying upon you, Mr. President, to keep us out of war, but we are relying upon you, Mr. President, to keep the honor of the nation unstained."
I am the friend of peace and mean to preserve it for America so long as I am able. . . . No course of my choosing or of theirs (nations at war) will lead to war. War can come only by the wilful acts and aggressions of others.
It is a fearful thing to lead this great peaceful people into war, into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars, civilization itself seeming to be in the balance. But the right is more precious than peace, and we shall fight for the things which we have always carried nearest our hearts—for democracy, for the right of those who submit to authority to have a voice in their own governments, for the rights and liberties of small nations, for a universal dominion of right by such a concert of free peoples as shall bring peace and safety to all nations and make the world itself at last free.
To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of those who know that the day has come when America is privileged to spend her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and happiness, and the peace which she has treasured. God helping her, she can do no other.
It is not an army that we must train for war; it is a nation.
They came with banner, spear, and shield;
And' it was proved in Bosworth field.
Not long the Avenger was withstood—
Earth help'd him with the cry of blood.
Wordsworth—Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle. St. 3. Last line probably taken from John Beaumont's Battle of Flodden Field.
But Thy most dreaded instrument
In working out a pure intent,
Is man,—arrayed for mutual slaughter,—
Yea, Carnage is Thy daughter.
Wordsworth. Poems dedicated to National
Independence and Liberty. Ode XLV.
(1815) Suppressed in later editions.
But Man is thy most awful instrument,
In working out a pure intent;
Thou cloth'st the wicked in their Hassling
mail,
And for thy righteous purpose they prevail.
Version in later editions.
As regards Providence, he cannot shake off the prejudice that in war, God is on the side of the big battalions, which at present are in the enemy's camp.
Zeller—Frederick the Great as Philosopher. Referring to (Euures de Frederic. XvIII, 186-188, the contents of a letter from Frederick to the Duchess op Gotha, about 1757. Carlyle gives the date of the letter as May 8, 1760. in his History of Frederick the Great. II. Bk. XIX. Vol. V. P. 606.
WASHINGTON
The defender of his country—the founder of
liberty,
The friend of man,
History and tradition are explored in vain
For a parallel to his character.
In the annals of modern greatness
He stands alone;
And the noblest names of antiquity
Lose their lustre in his presence.
Born the benefactor of mankind,
He united all the greatness necessary
To an illustrious career.
Nature made him great,
He made himself virtuous.
Part of an Epitaph found on the back of a
portrait of Washington, sent to the family
from England. See Werner's Readings.
No. 49. P. 77.
Simple and brave, his faith awoke
Ploughmen to struggle with their fate;
Armies won battles when he spoke,
And out of Chaos sprang the state.
While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air.
