C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.


The sex is ever to a soldier kind.


  • And the stern joy which warriors feel
  • In foemen worthy of their steel.
  • Scott.

  • Ay me! what perils do environ
  • The man that meddles with cold iron!
  • Butler.

  • His breast with wounds unnumber’d riven,
  • His back to earth, his face to heaven.
  • Byron.

  • Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
  • As his corse to the rampart we hurried.
  • Chas. Wolfe.

  • May that soldier a mere recreant prove
  • That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
  • Shakespeare.

  • Soldier, rest! thy warfare o’er,
  • Dream of fighting fields no more;
  • Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
  • Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
  • Scott.

    Yet what cam they see in the longest kindly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier?


  • He slept an iron sleep,—
  • Slain fighting for his country.
  • Homer.

  • As we pledge the health of our general, who fares as rough as we,
  • What can daunt us, what can turn us, led to death by such as he?
  • Charles Kingsley.

  • God’s soldier be he!
  • Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
  • I would not wish them to a fairer death:
  • And so his knell is knoll’d.
  • Shakespeare.

  • No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
  • Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
  • But he lay like a warrior taking his rest
  • With his martial cloak around him.
  • Chas. Wolfe.

  • Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest
  • Your truth and valor wearing:
  • The bravest are the tenderest,—
  • The loving are the daring.
  • Bayard Taylor.

  • The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay;
  • Sat by his fire, and talked the night away;
  • Wept o’er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
  • Shoulder’d his crutch, and show’d how fields were won.
  • Goldsmith.

  • Then a soldier,
  • Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
  • Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
  • Seeking the bubble reputation
  • Even in the cannon’s mouth.
  • Shakespeare.

  • “What are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade.
  • “To turn you out, to turn you out,” the Colour Sergeant said.
  • “What makes, you look so white, so, white?” said Files-on-Parade.
  • “I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,” the Colour-Sergeant said.
  • “For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the dead march play.
  • The regiment’s in ’ollow square,—They’re hangin’ him to-day;
  • They’re taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away.
  • And they’re haingin’ Danny Deever in the morning.”
  • Rudyard Kipling.

    Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils.


  • All quiet along the Potomac they say
  • Except now and then a stray picket
  • Is shot as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
  • By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
  • Ethel Lynn Beers.