Veterans Day

Some facts about Veterans Day:

In 1919, President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed November 11 as Armistice Day to commemorate the end of World War I. The end of the war happened at the 11th hour, of the 11th day, of the 11th month, so that's why November 11 was chosen.

Congress changed the name to Veterans Day in 1954. Veterans Day, a legal holiday in the U.S., honors all who have served in the nation’s armed forces, whether they are living or dead.

Today we honor all Veterans that have served this country so well. This day is especially meaningful to us as Matthew is a Veteran. He will join Elisabeth at her school this afternoon as they hold a service honoring all the Veterans connected to the students. I am disappointed I cannot be there to share this moment but wanted to post a few thoughts here. I came across a few poems about Veterans and wanted to share them. As you read them, please think about all those that have fought; all those who still fight; and all those that made the ultimate sacrifice for all of us.

A Nation's Strength
Walt Whitman
Not gold, but only man can make
A people great and strong;
Men who, for truth and honor's sake,
Stand fast and suffer long.

Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly --
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.

The Things That Make a Soldier Great
Edgar Guest
The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die,
To face the flaming cannon's mouth nor ever question why,
Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red,
The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed,
The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall:
'Tis these that make a soldier great.
He's fighting for them all.

'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave;
'Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may wave;
For soldiers never fight so well on land or on the foam
As when behind the cause they see the little place called home.
Endanger but that humble street whereon his children run,
You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun.
What is it through the battle smoke the valiant soldier sees?

The little garden far away, the budding apple trees,
The little patch of ground back there, the children at their play,
Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church of gray.
The golden thread of courage isn't linked to castle dome
But to the spot, where'er it be — the humblest spot called home.
And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there
And homesick soldiers far away know spring is in the air;
The tulips come to bloom again, the grass once more is green,
And every man can see the spot where all his joys have been.

He sees his children smile at him, he hears the bugle call,
And only death can stop him now -- he's fighting for them all.