Friday, October 12, 2012

Who's Driving This Mess?

I know I have written twice already this week but I came across something I really felt needed to be shared.

Sir Winston Churchill
In the years leading up to the Second World War, Winston Churchill tried to warn the British that appeasement to the demands of Hitler was not the proper tactic to take with a madman.  But Neville Chamberlain had the ear of Parliament and spouted his pacifist plans sufficiently well that most of Britain ignored Churchill and his warnings.  The ensuing years proved Winston Churchill correct and when he became Prime Minister of England, his place in history was cemented. 

Just before war was declared between Britain and Germany Churchill recited a poem that, I believe, has great pertinence to our present day situation. 

Our government is in the process of trying to appease and satisfy enemies who are set on destroying our nation and much of the world as we know it.  The efforts of our leaders have been dismal (particularly in the last 4 years) and we are closer to a great war than at any time since those days in the late 1930’s.

The First nuclear bomb, preparing for detonation
With the proliferation of nuclear weapons and the fear caused by the terrorists who hold them we need someone like Churchill to help lead us out of this mess.  It might be well if we were to consider the value of the message from this little poem as we evaluate who would best help lead our nation out of the quagmire we currently populate.

Anyway, here is the poem.  It is written by Edwin James Miliken and was shared by O.S. Card here (you didn't really think I was that smart to come up with this on my own did you?).

Death and His Brother Sleep
By Edwin James Miliken

Who is in charge of the clattering train? 
The axles creak, and the couplings strain.
At every mile we a minute must gain! 
Who is in charge of the clattering train?
Only a Man, but away at his back, 
In a dozen cars, on the steely track, 
A hundred passengers place their trust 
In this fellow of fustian, grease, and dust. 
They cheerily chat, or they calmly sleep, 
Sure that the driver his watch will keep
A hundred hearts beat placidly on, 
Unwitting they that their warder's gone;

For the pace is hot, and the points are near, 
And Sleep hath deadened the driver's ear; 
And signals flash through the night in vain. 
Death is in charge of the clattering train!

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