Purple's not dead yet

Paroxysms have come to Homeland many times. However, there is something that allows us to survive, which is deep within each of us, and which even the most leftist school programs will not destroy.

PThey did for a century with the mountain to deprive us not only of past but even of parent tongue. For the 300 years of the Romanov dynasty (1913), more money was collected voluntarily for the Russian occupier than the National Government had at its disposal throughout the January Uprising. And erstwhile the Moskals left Warsaw in 1915, it was common to cry that “our people were leaving”.

Five years ago, the same people and their adults at the time bravely faced the Kalmuck invaders defending not only Poland, but the full of Europe against the Bolshevik plague.

Today I read bitter texts, even on the portal. Poland dies? My God, there have been worse times of oppression in history, and yet it came out stronger than before.

Where do you think the words came from? First Brigade?

We don't want your approval today.

Don't say it, don't cry.

The days of knocking are over

To your heads, to your hearts!

And already this verse shows most clearly what Poland looked like only 3 years before regaining the Infallibility!

He remembers Warsaw moments,

As a grey fistful of legions walked,

They threw us "germanophiles,"

A bitter teardrop came out of my eye!

Kwith heartwarming encouragement, then, let us remind you Sailing Legend Henryk Sienkiewicz's feathers were first printed in 1900.

There was a ship called “Purpura”, so large and strong that it was not afraid of the winds, nor of the snowmen, even the most terrible.

And he continued to sail with his sails stretched out, and he climbed up the padded shafts, and he crushed the mighty breast of the underwater hooks upon which the another ships crashed, and he sailed into the distance, with sails in the sun, so fast that the foam roared at his sides, and behind him followed a broad and long firewood road.

“This is simply a delicious ship!” said sailors from another ships. — You would say: Leviathan waves of eagles!

And sometimes they asked the Purpura crew:

Where are you going?

— Where the wind is coming from! — the panties answered.

- Careful!

In consequence to the warning, the wind only applied the words of a song as loud as a storm itself:

“Let's go, merry!”

Happy was the life of the crew on this ship. The underpants, trusted in his greatness and courage, mocked the dangers. There was discipline on another ships, but on “Purpur” everyone did what he wanted.

Life there was a constant holiday. Happily, the storms and broken rocks have increased confidence. There are no (speaked) reefs, nor storms, which the “Purpura” could break. Let the hurricane rotation over the sea — “Purpura” flow further.

And “Purpura” was indeed, proud, wonderful. Years have passed — and she not only seemed unbreakable herself, but she saved another ships and took the survivors on her deck.
Blind religion in her strength increased regular in the hearts of the crew. The sailors were lazy in happiness and forgot the sailing play. “Purpura” will sail on its own, they said. — Why work, why watch the ship, defender the rudder, masts, sails, ropes? Why live in labour and sweat erstwhile the ship is like a deity — immortal?

“Let's go, merry!”

And they sailed for years. Until yet the passing of time the crew enslaved completely, neglected their duties, and no 1 knew that the ship had begun to spoil itself. The saltwater ate the beams, the mighty bonds relaxed, the waves torn off the sides, the masts were rotten, and the sails were stuck in the air.
All voices of reason began to raise:

— Beware! — said any panties.

“Nothing! We’re going with the wave!” most sailors responded.

Yet, erstwhile upon a time, there was a storm that had not been at sea before. The winds mixed the ocean with the clouds into 1 hell of a mess. Water poles rose and flew with a bang on “Purpura”, terrible foaming, boiling. erstwhile they got to the ship, they drove it all the way down to the bottom of the sea, then threw it into the clouds, then knocked it down again. A broken doubtful ship's bonds, and a abrupt terrible cry spread on board:

“Purpura” is sinking!

And “Purpura” was truly sinking, and the crew, recovering from hardships and shipping, did not know how to save her!
But after the first minute of terror, the rage grew in their hearts, due to the fact that they loved their ship these sailors.
So they all broke up and began to beat from the cannon to the winds and waves, and then, grabbing what was at hand, they began to whip the sea that wanted to sink “Purpura”.

The conflict of this human despair with this component was wonderful. But the waves were stronger than the sailors. The flooded cannons are silent. immense whirls have taken many fighting and carried distant the water. The crew was shrinking at all minute — but inactive fighting. The Zalani, half blind, covered with foam, the sailors fought to the ground.

At times, they lacked their strength, but after a short rest, they were fighting again.

Finally, their hands fell. They felt death coming.

And there was a minute of deaf despair. And they looked at each another like mad sailors.

Then the same voices that had previously warned about danger rose again, stronger, so strong that the roar of the waves could not drown them out.

These voices said:

- Blind! Not with your cannon beat to the storm, not the waves whip, but the ship fix! Get down. Work there. “Purpura” has not yet died.

In those words, you were moved by half dead and everyone threw themselves down and started working from underneath.

And they worked from morning to night, in labour and sweat of the forehead, wanting the erstwhile idleness and blindness to make up for...

PLet's keep that in mind. The left, both the brown and the red, spoke many times about the death of God and the emergence of the fresh Man.

Each time it turned out that only a substance of time and, unfortunately, the number of casualties is the period that separates the triumph of the left from its fall.

‘Purple” is not dead yet!

7.04 2024

photo of pixabay