After Trump's tragic speech about pride in power, David Frum points to a very well-known English poem about the desperate need for humility in the rulers of great democratic powers.
It isn't a perfectly humble poem, and it employs God where one would hope conscience might operate, but it's an awful lot more aware than Trump of the risks of being mighty. And it has a mantra-like repeat line in it that, for me, comes to mind frequently when folks magnify the benefits of wars and the tools they use to wage them: "lest we forget - lest we forget."
The lives we shall lose. The tragedies we shall write. The hurt we shall bring. Lest we forget. Lest we forget.
In the end, the use of military power doesn't make a country great. Instead, depending upon the purpose of the use, it is what risks a country's greatness.
The poem's called Recessional and it was written by Rudyard Kipling. It's also a hymn.
God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,
For frantic boast and foolish word—
Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!
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