序 言（7）（2/2）
《责任 荣誉 国家》作者：(美)麦克阿瑟 等著 2017-02-10 18:03
wer groups grown too arrogan t, by politics grown too corrupt, by crime grown too rampant, by morals grown to o low, by taxes grown too high, by extremists grown too violent; whether our per sonal liberties are as thorough and complete as they should be. These great nati onal problems are not for your professional participation or military solution. Your guidepost stands out like a ten?fold beacon in the night: Duty, Honor, Cou ntry.
You are the leaven which binds together the entire fabric of our national sy stem of defense. From your ranks come the great captains who hold the nation's d estiny in their hands the moment the war tocsin sounds. The Long Gray Line has n ever failed us. Were you to do so, a million ghosts in olive drab, in brown khak i, in blue and gray, would rise from their white crosses thundering those magic words: Duty, Honor, Country.
This does not mean that you are war mongers.
On the contrary, the soldier, above all other people, prays for peace, for h e must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.
But always in our ears ring the ominous words of Plato that wisest of all ph ilosophers: “Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
The shadows are lengthening for me. The twilight is here. My days of old hav e vanished, tone and tint. They have gone glimmering through the dreams of thing s that were. Their memory is one of wondrous beauty, watered by tears, and coaxe d and caressed by the smiles of yesterday. I listen vainly, but with thirsty ear s, for the witching melody of faint bugles blowing reveille, of far drums beatin g the long roll. In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musk etry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.
But in the evening of my memory, always I come back to West Point.
Always there echoes and re?echoes: Duty, Honor, Country.
Today marks my final roll call with you, but I want you to know that when I cross the river my last conscious thoughts will be of The Corps, and The Corps, and The Corps.
I bid you farewell.
You are the leaven which binds together the entire fabric of our national sy stem of defense. From your ranks come the great captains who hold the nation's d estiny in their hands the moment the war tocsin sounds. The Long Gray Line has n ever failed us. Were you to do so, a million ghosts in olive drab, in brown khak i, in blue and gray, would rise from their white crosses thundering those magic words: Duty, Honor, Country.
This does not mean that you are war mongers.
On the contrary, the soldier, above all other people, prays for peace, for h e must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.
But always in our ears ring the ominous words of Plato that wisest of all ph ilosophers: “Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
The shadows are lengthening for me. The twilight is here. My days of old hav e vanished, tone and tint. They have gone glimmering through the dreams of thing s that were. Their memory is one of wondrous beauty, watered by tears, and coaxe d and caressed by the smiles of yesterday. I listen vainly, but with thirsty ear s, for the witching melody of faint bugles blowing reveille, of far drums beatin g the long roll. In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musk etry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.
But in the evening of my memory, always I come back to West Point.
Always there echoes and re?echoes: Duty, Honor, Country.
Today marks my final roll call with you, but I want you to know that when I cross the river my last conscious thoughts will be of The Corps, and The Corps, and The Corps.
I bid you farewell.