As I watch the chaos unfold across the ocean, I can’t help but think that history is repeating itself again.
A maniacal despot seeking power, territory and personal gain pits his army against a weaker nation. But this time, the weaker nation is pushing back.
Putin has just joined the scourges of the ages. He is as despicable a human as Hitler, Tojo, Stalin, and any other dictator.
The world can sit back and watch as things continue to grow out of control.
Or the world can act.
If it does the first, the blood of the people in not just Ukraine but in every other country he decides to try and conquer will be on all of our hands.
This poem was written in 1845 by James Russell Lowell. It truly applies today.
Once to Every Man and Nation
Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;
Some great cause, God’s new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,
Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right,
And the choice goes by for ever ‘twixt that darkness and that light.
Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand,
Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?
Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet ‘t is Truth alone is strong,
And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng
Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.
Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see,
That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion’s sea;
Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry
Of those Crises, God’s stern winnowers, from whose feet earth’s chaff must fly;
Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.
Careless seems the great Avenger; history’s pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness ‘twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth for ever on the scaffold, Wrong for ever on the throne,—
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.
We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great,
Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate,
But the soul is still oracular; amid the market’s din,
List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within,—