Hillcrest Farm
Poetry and Verse
Words gathered at Hillcrest
A reading collection of remembrance, nature, place, and liberty.
Remembrance
Till the Last Shot's Fired
Trace Adkins' song remembers fallen soldiers and the lasting hope for peace.
Hillcrest's Gift
For this is Hillcrest's gift to me
At each morning's first light, I start my rounds of those sights,
That the Hillcrest has provided me.
With early daylight burning the cool pure dew,
The sounds of the forest come alive as on cue,
That symphony of Nature that is oh so free.
As Spring brings green fields and redbud bloom,
Hope for this year will not far away loom,
The bounty this season in Fall we will see.
The farmer toils his hallowed summer task,
His faith and hope he cannot mask,
Beyond his power, he must simply "let it be".
The noon summer sun without mercy glows,
To the Walnut shade one will always stow,
Dreams of cool days that are not yet seen.
From seed to sawdust the woodsman tends his lot,
Taking and leaving, he works this special spot,
To craft nature's legacy while nursing his trees.
The Autumn Fall colors so brilliant and stunning,
Portend of Thanksgiving, the harvest and hunting,
Which leaves to think no greater paradise be.
The mystery of Nature creates hidden treasure,
Its wondrous discovery that is without measure,
These precious new finds without limit you see.
With Winter's grey skies we can rest at last,
Tho our list of duties will never be past,
For this is Hillcrest's gift to me.
A Theme for Hillcrest
Oh Shenandoah
This "Oh Shenandoah" captures the longing of something we will never see again. This beautiful song is a testament to the American westward movement of the early nineteenth century. It captures the migration to a new land, leaving behind loved ones and a beautiful place. It has at least three voices: one of the love of the daughter of an Indian chief, another loves a daughter of the Shenandoah Valley, and a third is taking his wife westward.
If I had to pick a theme song for the Hillcrest, this would be it.
Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775
Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death
No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country.
For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country.
Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.
If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight!
An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us! They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house?
The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable, and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.
Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Rupert Brooke
The Pines
I saw the Pines against the white north sky
Very beautiful, and still,
and bending over Their sharp black heads against a quiet sky,
and there was peace in them.
Theodore O'Hara
Bivouac of the Dead
For the soldiers that fell at Buena Vista in February, 1847, during the Mexican-American War.
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round, the bivouac of the dead.
Robert Service
The Spell of the Yukon
I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Was it famine or scurvy? I fought it;
I hurled my youth into a grave.
Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,
And somehow the gold isn't all.
It's the great, big, broad land way up yonder,
It's the forests where silence has lease;
It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It's the stillness that fills me with peace.