Serenity
Well-known member
Original post removed and replaced by the following poem.
A. W. Whiteford
This world's a varied race of men,
From king to servant humble,
And he who would their virtues pen,
Must wary be, or stumble,
But though I'm poor in rhyme and purse,
I'll pause a little while,
To sing in plain and simple verse,
The common rank and file.
When searching for a bosom friend,
Of eighteen carrot gold,
'Tis not among the rich we send,
With men so proud and cold,
But out where honest hearts are warm,
Free from deceit and guile,
Who stand the test of every storm,
The common rank and file.
Though mighty nations raise their flags
In majesty supreme,
Their emblems are but useless rags,
Their power is all a dream,
Unless throughout their breadth and length,
In true and princely style,
There stands in firm united strength,
The common rank and file.
But wealth and comfort pass them by
To grow in finer soil,
It matters not how hard they try,
'Tis e'er their lot to toil.
And grasping, greedy millionaires
Their untold fortunes pile,
Regardless of their tears and prayers,
The common rank and file.
The merchant prince, whose costly home.
In royal grandeur stands,
Where daughters wait until there comes
A duke from foreign lands,
And railroad kings, who live in state,
The "beastly herd" revile,
Whene'er requested to debate
The common rank and file.
No master's paintings e'er adorn
Their poorly papered walls,
And at their humble cots forlorn,
No titled count e'er calls.
From landlords stern cheap homes they rent,
In quarters mean and vile,
And here their wretched lives are spent,
The common rank and file.
They trust the few who're called the great,
And labor for their ends,
And when their griefs they would relate,
There's no one comprehends.
They're tricked by those of little worth,
By politician's wile,
And die as they have lived on earth,
The common rank and file.
No silked robed priest with pious face,
Has time their souls to save,
And sculptured marble's polished grace
Ne're marks their lowly grave.
The sacred spots where rest the rich
They dare not to defile,
Some miry, muddy, lonely ditch
Will take the rank and file.
But though they're poor each honest breast
With love and feeling heaves,
And hope, of all kinds friends the best,
Their woe and care relieves.
And in the land that faith calls heaven,
Beneath a Father's smile,
A seat of honor will be given
The common rank and file.
The Common Rank and File
A. W. Whiteford
This world's a varied race of men,
From king to servant humble,
And he who would their virtues pen,
Must wary be, or stumble,
But though I'm poor in rhyme and purse,
I'll pause a little while,
To sing in plain and simple verse,
The common rank and file.
When searching for a bosom friend,
Of eighteen carrot gold,
'Tis not among the rich we send,
With men so proud and cold,
But out where honest hearts are warm,
Free from deceit and guile,
Who stand the test of every storm,
The common rank and file.
Though mighty nations raise their flags
In majesty supreme,
Their emblems are but useless rags,
Their power is all a dream,
Unless throughout their breadth and length,
In true and princely style,
There stands in firm united strength,
The common rank and file.
But wealth and comfort pass them by
To grow in finer soil,
It matters not how hard they try,
'Tis e'er their lot to toil.
And grasping, greedy millionaires
Their untold fortunes pile,
Regardless of their tears and prayers,
The common rank and file.
The merchant prince, whose costly home.
In royal grandeur stands,
Where daughters wait until there comes
A duke from foreign lands,
And railroad kings, who live in state,
The "beastly herd" revile,
Whene'er requested to debate
The common rank and file.
No master's paintings e'er adorn
Their poorly papered walls,
And at their humble cots forlorn,
No titled count e'er calls.
From landlords stern cheap homes they rent,
In quarters mean and vile,
And here their wretched lives are spent,
The common rank and file.
They trust the few who're called the great,
And labor for their ends,
And when their griefs they would relate,
There's no one comprehends.
They're tricked by those of little worth,
By politician's wile,
And die as they have lived on earth,
The common rank and file.
No silked robed priest with pious face,
Has time their souls to save,
And sculptured marble's polished grace
Ne're marks their lowly grave.
The sacred spots where rest the rich
They dare not to defile,
Some miry, muddy, lonely ditch
Will take the rank and file.
But though they're poor each honest breast
With love and feeling heaves,
And hope, of all kinds friends the best,
Their woe and care relieves.
And in the land that faith calls heaven,
Beneath a Father's smile,
A seat of honor will be given
The common rank and file.
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