Poetry from the Korean War: High Flight Our Prayer Airman's Campus Our Ground Crew Night Intruder Lament HIGH FLIGHT By John Gillespie Magee, Jr. Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of - Wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hovering there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long, delirious burning blue I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew. And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. (Return to top) OUR PRAYER Lord guard and guide the men who fly, Through the great spaces of the sky. Be with them as they take to air, In morning light and sunshine fair. Eternal Father, strong to save, Give them courage, make them brave; Protect them whereso'er they go, From shell and flak and fire and foe. Most loved Member of their crew, Ride with them up in the blue. Direct their bombs upon the foe, but shelter those whom Thou dost know. Keep them together upon their way. Grant their work success today. Deliver them from hate and sin, and bring them safely down again. O God bless the men who fly, Through lonely way across the sky, Amen (Return to top) THE AIRMAN'S CAMPUS by Gill Robb Wilson The airman's campus is ten miles tall and the ivy twining its vaulted wall has root in the breath of the misty strand and the filtering fingers of land. Its bounds are a scimitared edge of blue which the eye may forge from a distant view, and its walks are traced by the contrail's frost till the footsteps pass and the track is lost. Its windows look to the compassed space where the orbiting worlds are held in place and made to glow by the beams that run a trillion miles from the burning sun. Its field of play is the purple plain where the ear may catch the sphere's refrain to the verses sung by the dancing stars - and the thundering bass of Mars. The savant day and the long-haired night hold class for the campus neophyte with a text fresh writ each dusk and dawn from the primal code they draw upon. So come ye here who have heart to tread in a tall man's pride with the thunderhead and walk the scimitared edge of space till the yearn of your heart finds peace. (Return to top) OUR GROUND CREW Here's to the men with greasy hands - Who fuel our planes when we come in to land Who fix the flak damage and stop the leaks Who change the tires and stop the squeaks Tend to the controls to make them fly straight Wait for the planes when the pilots are late Who smooth the scratches and rivet the panels Check, "Loud and Clear" on the radio channels Who read the writeups and make the repairs Check the lines for chaffing and tears Who pull the chocks and check the wings And do a million other things That make an aircraft safe and ready to fly. So - Here's a salute to those hard working guys, From a group of fliers who too seldom ponder About the men who keep us up in the wild blue yonder. (Submitted by Tom Shortell from original source Royal Canadian Air Force Magazine via several other military newsletters.) (Return to top) NIGHT INTRUDER LAMENT I have a story to tell you A story of men bold and brave Who have fought, some have died, for their Country With a brightly burning plane for their grave. On an island we called Honshu With the broad blue Pacific all around We set up our tents and our shelters And dug holes for our safety in the ground. At night when day fighters are sleeping And we call Hacksaw for a fix The Heavens are filled with our thunder And the roar of our Baker-26. On a cold moonless night in December The order was read with a sigh And a happy-go-lucky young pilot Took his plane and his crew out to die. They went with a smile all unknowing 'Twas only a Korean patrol Too bad that their duty included Their answering GOD's Final Roll. Moonshine gave them their vector Surveillance to the Yalu and back. They say the last words they transmitted "We wish we were back in our sacks." One hour stretched out into seven. It was no time to jest or to grin. We knew as we waited and listened Another Night Intruder had augured in. There was no one to see and report it. No help from a searching patrol Just three names written off the Roster Who will no longer answer the roll. So lift up your glasses my buddies In honor of those who fought their fight. The sleep you enjoy out of danger Is because of the boys who fly at night. -- Author Unknown (Return to top) Home