Tuesday, April 26, 2011



The marching armies of the past
Along our Southern plains,
Are sleeping now in quiet rest
Beneath the Southern rains.

The bugle call is now in vain
To rouse them from their bed;
To arms they'll never march again--
They are sleeping with the dead.

No more will Shiloh's plains be stained
With blood our heroes shed,
Nor Chancellorsville resound again
To our noble warriors' tread.

For them no more shall reveille
Sound at the break of dawn,
But may their sleep peaceful be
Till God's great judgment morn.

We bow our heads in solemn prayer
For those who wore the gray,
And clasp again their unseen hands
On our Memorial Day.

From the May, 1893 issue of "Confederate Veteran"

The Homespun Dress

The Homespun Dress by Carrie Belle Sinclair (Text)

The Code of Chivalry

Knights Code of Chivalry
To fear God and maintain His Church
To serve the liege lord in valour and faith
To protect the weak and defenceless
To give succour to widows and orphans
To refrain from the wanton giving of offence
To live by honour and for glory
To despise pecuniary reward
To fight for the welfare of all
To obey those placed in authority
To guard the honour of fellow knights
To eschew unfairness, meanness and deceit
To keep faith
At all times to speak the truth
To persevere to the end in any enterprise begun
To respect the honour of women
Never to refuse a challenge from an equal
Never to turn the back upon a foe

Sunday, April 17, 2011

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle Is The Hand That Rules The World
A poem by William Ross Wallace

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow--
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky--
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Poisonous People Online

Odd how "Feminist" always reverse their worst and most vile hatred for other woman. Saw a very nasty site called "Free Jinger," dedicated to attacking conservatives. A young lady who posted a couple of comments on this blog was attacked by this site till she took down her blog. Sad that these people will even attack a young homeschooling girl in such a nasty manner. The Home Living blog has also been a victim of attacks as well. These people not content with wallowing in their own misery, have to attack others. And sadly these "Liberals" and "Feminist" have lots of other sites to spread their hateful nastiness. Nasty people.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Honor To Woman

Honor To Woman
A poem by Frederich Schiller

Honor to woman! To her it is given
To garden the earth with the roses of heaven!
All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir
In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing,
She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling,
And keeps ever-living the fire!

From the bounds of truth careering,
Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps,
With each hasty impulse veering
Down to passion's troubled deeps.
And his heart, contented never,
Greeds to grapple with the far,
Chasing his own dream forever,
On through many a distant star!
But woman with looks that can charm and enchain,
Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again,
By the spell of her presence beguiled--
In the home of the mother her modest abode,
And modest the manners by Nature bestowed
On Nature's most exquisite child!

Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting,
Foe to foe, the angry strife;
Man, the wild one, never resting,
Roams along the troubled life;
What he planneth, still pursuing;
Vainly as the Hydra bleeds,
Crest the severed crest renewing--
Wish to withered wish succeeds.

But woman at peace with all being, reposes,
And seeks from the moment to gather the roses--
Whose sweets to her culture belong.
Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er
The mighty dominion of genius and lore,
And the infinite circle of song.

Strong, and proud, and self-depending,
Man's cold bosom beats alone;
Heart with heart divinely blending,
In the love that gods have known,
Soul's sweet interchange of feeling,
Melting tears--he never knows,
Each hard sense the hard one steeling,
Arms against a world of foes.

Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly soever
If wooed by the zephyr, to music will quiver,
Is woman to hope and to fear;
All, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving,
How quiver the chords--how thy bosom is heaving--
How trembles thy glance through the tear!

Man's dominion, war and labor;
Might to right the statue gave;
Laws are in the Scythian's sabre;
Where the Mede reigned--see the slave!
Peace and meekness grimly routing,
Prowls the war-lust, rude and wild;
Eris rages, hoarsely shouting,
Where the vanished graces smiled.

But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth--
Of the life that she charmeth, the sceptre she swayeth;
She lulls, as she looks from above,
The discord whose bell for its victims is gaping,
And blending awhile the forever escaping,
Whispers hate to the image of love!

More Victorian bashing

A poorly written anti-Victorian Blog: "The Truth About Victoriana". I am sure one could find a lot nasty things to write about from such peroid, but this blog does not even do a very good job. I don't why see why she brings up 1950's American in comparison, that is one period I find nothing to be nostalgic about, but I could be nostalgic for the 1850's. People are flawed creatures but at least in the past morality and godliness were the ideals of the general culture. This Cindy woman is a very nasty and hateful person, who also runs a number of other very hateful sites. This "Feminist" does not like the Victorian Era, but I have heard some Conservative Christians attack the Victorian era as being matriarchal and anti-male. I take a generally positive and nostalgic of view Victorian Era for the most part, but never claimed everything was perfect. Is the modern world free of immorality, disease, prostitution, crime and cruelty?

An example of her lack of knowledge; "Victorian Boys Wore Dresses and Had Long Hair." I am not sure what the point of this post is supposed to be anyway. This blog seems to have little understanding of the subjects it covers, the reason why little boys wore skirts was mainly a matter of hygiene. Boys didn't wear trousers till they out of diapers and keeping themselves clean without their mother's help. Some Mennonites, such as the Amish, still follow such practice. "Breeching was the occasion when a small boy was first dressed in breeches or trousers. From the mid-16th century until the late 19th or early 20th century, young boys in the Western world were unbreeched and wore gowns or dresses until an age that varied between two and eight... The main reason for keeping boys in dresses was toilet training, or the lack of it. Dresses were also easier to make with room for future growth, in an age when clothes were much more expensive than now for all classes. The 'age of reason' was generally considered to be about seven, and breeching corresponded roughly with that age for much of the period."