Old Glory - The poem that accompanies the
ceremonial passing-of-the-flag
I am the Flag of the United States of America - My name is Old
Glory!
I fly atop the world's tallest buildings.
I stand watch in America's halls of justice.
I fly majestically over great institutions of learning.
I stand guard with the greatest
military power in the world.
Look up and see me!
I stand for Peace, Honor, Truth, and Justice - I stand for
Freedom.
I am confident, I am arrogant, I am proud!
When I am flown with my fellow banners, my head is a little
higher, my colors a little truer.
I bow to no one - I am recognized all over the world.
I am Worshipped, I am Loved, and I am feared!
I have fought in every battle of every war for more than two
hundred years:
Gettysburg, Shiloh, Appomattox, San Juan Hill, the trenches of
France, the Argon Forest, Anzio, Rome, Pearl Harbor, the beaches of
Normandy, Guam, Okinawa, Japan, Korea, Viet Nam, the Persian Gulf,
and a score of other places long forgotten by all but those who
were there with me.
I was there.
I led my Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines,
I followed them, and watched over them. They love me.
I was on a small hill on Iwo Jima.
I was dirty, battle worn, and tired, but my Soldiers cheered me,
and I was PROUD!
I have been soiled, burned, torn, and trampled in the streets of
countries that I have helped set free.
It does not hurt, for I am invincible.
I have been soiled, burned, torn, and trampled on the streets of
own country, but when it is by those whom I have served with in
battle, it HURTS!
But I shall overcome - for I am strong.
I have slipped the bonds of earth, and from my vantage point on
the moon, I stand watch over the uncharted new frontiers of space.
I have been a silent witness to all of America's finest hours.
But my finest hour comes...
-- when I am torn into strips to be used as a bandage for my
wounded comrades on the field of battle,
-- when I fly at half mast to honor my Soldiers, my Sailors, my
Airmen, my Marines,
-- and when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving mother -
at the graveside of her fallen son or daughter.
I am proud - My name is Old Glory!
Long may I wave, dear God.
Long may I wave.
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