Something I wrote this morning on a related idea:
The Torch
(to the tune "The River is Wide")
A dream was born of hope and light,
of freedom bought in blood and pain
It is a beacon in the dark
For those caught up in tyrant's chains.
Some say the price is just too high,
Freedom's a myth, nothing to gain,
and those who were brave enough to try
are merely fools who died in vain.
Some call them fools who care to try,
stupid or evil to stand for right,
They fight to stop those who would go,
They fight to keep us in the night.
I think of those who worked so hard
to pay the price that keeps us free,
Yet some at home want us to lose
Like we don't deserve the right to be.
Some see the US as something bad,
Our reaching out an evil scheme --
They cheapen every sacrifice,
Each soul that worked for freedom's dream.
Our forebearers passed the torch to us,
Freedom's bright light from hand to hand,
Will we extinguish that bright flame
Or pass it on across the land?
The Parable of the Old Man and the Young
So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father, Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb, for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an Angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not they hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him, thy son.
Behold! Caught in a thicket by its horns,
A Ram. Offer the Ram of Pride instead.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son, And half the seed of Europe, one by one.
http://www.everypoet.com/Archive/Poetry/Wilfred_Owen/wilfred_owen_contents.htm