Kissed by an Angel, Where Violins are the Angels Voices,

and the Cello Sings Harmony

Rest in Peace

For they swore by the Holy Water,
They swore by the salt they ate,
That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib
Should go to his God in state;
With fifty file of Burman
To open him Heaven’s gate.
(Kipling)

Sgt Travis M Tompkins, 31, of Lawton, OK, died Mar 16 in Logar Province in Afghanistan of injuries sustained when enemy forces attacked his unit with an RPG. He was of the Brigade Special Troops Bn, 4th Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division

Senior Airman Michael J Hinkle II, 24, or Corona, CA, died March 16 due to non-combat incident in Southwest Asia. he was of the Air Force 28th Communications Squadron.

 

Photobucket
Photobucket

Our Prayer (h/t) Kenny Solomon
Lord, we ask your blessing today as we gather to pay our respects to another American serviceman/woman/hero. It is our duty and our honor to gather together to honor this fellow American. Give strength to his/her family in their time of grief. Keep watch over our troops deployed through out the world and also here at home, as well as their families. The price of freedom is a cost borne by few for the benefit of many. Too often, we take for granted the freedoms that we enjoy, and it is at times like this that we realize that freedom is never free. We would also ask your blessing on us as we travel back to our homes, and we thank you, Lord for this day. Amen.

“The Grave of the Hundred Head” by Rudyard Kipling (h/t MSG Nessa, ret.)

There’s a widow in sleepy Chester
Who weeps for her only son;
There’s a grave on the Pabeng River,
A grave that the Burmans shun,
And there’s Subadar Prag Tewarri
Who tells how the work was done.

A Snider squibbed in the jungle,
Somebody laughed and fled,
And the men of the First Shikaris
Picked up their Subaltern dead,
With a big blue mark in his forehead
And the back blown out of his head.

Subadar Prag Tewarri,
Jemadar Hira Lal,
Took command of the party,
Twenty rifles in all,
Marched them down to the river
As the day was beginning to fall.

They buried the boy by the river,
A blanket over his face–
They wept for their dead Lieutenant,
The men of an alien race–
They made a samadh in his honor,
A mark for his resting-place.

For they swore by the Holy Water,
They swore by the salt they ate,
That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib
Should go to his God in state;
With fifty file of Burman
To open him Heaven’s gate.

The men of the First Shikaris
Marched till the break of day,
Till they came to the rebel village,
The village of Pabengmay–
A jingal covered the clearing,
Calthrops hampered the way.

Subadar Prag Tewarri,
Bidding them load with ball,
Halted a dozen rifles
Under the village wall;
Sent out a flanking-party
With Jemadar Hira Lal.

The men of the First Shikaris
Shouted and smote and slew,
Turning the grinning jingal
On to the howling crew.
The Jemadar’s flanking-party
Butchered the folk who flew.

Long was the morn of slaughter,
Long was the list of slain,
Five score heads were taken,
Five score heads and twain;
And the men of the First Shikaris
Went back to their grave again,

Each man bearing a basket
Red as his palms that day,
Red as the blazing village–
The village of Pabengmay,
And the “drip-drip-drip” from the baskets
Reddened the grass by the way.

They made a pile of their trophies
High as a tall man’s chin,
Head upon head distorted,
Set in a sightless grin,
Anger and pain and terror
Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin.

Subadar Prag Tewarri
Put the head of the Boh
On the top of the mound of triumph,
The head of his son below,
With the sword and the peacock-banner
That the world might behold and know.

Thus the samadh was perfect,
Thus was the lesson plain
Of the wrath of the First Shikaris–
The price of a white man slain;
And the men of the First Shikaris
Went back into camp again.

Then a silence came to the river,
A hush fell over the shore,
And Bohs that were brave departed,
And Sniders squibbed no more;
For the Burmans said
That a kullah’s head
Must be paid for with heads five score.

There’s a widow in sleepy Chester
Who weeps for her only son;
There’s a grave on the Pabeng River,
A grave that the Burmans shun,
And there’s Subadar Prag Tewarri
Who tells how the work was done.

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The Mansions of the Lord

To fallen soldiers let us sing

Where no rockets fly nor bullets wing

Our broken brothers let us bring

To the Mansions of the Lord

No more bleeding, no more fight

No prayers pleading through the night

Just divine embrace, eternal light

To the Mansions of the Lord.

Where no mothers cry and no children weep

We will stand and guard though the angels sleep

Through the ages safely keep

The Mansions of the Lord.

St George Frederick