By John J. Daley.

Here's to the red of it ~There's not a thread of it,
No, not a shred of it, In all the spread of it,
From foot to head; But heroes bled for it,
Faced steel and lead for it, Precious blood was shed for it,
Bathing in Red!

Here's to the white of it~ Thrilled by the sight of it,
Who knows the right of it, But feels the might of it,
Through day and night? Womanhood's care for it,
Made manhood dare for it,
Keeps it so white!

Here's to the blue of it~ Beauteous view of it,
Heavenly hue of it, Star-spangled dew of it,
Constant and true; Diadems gleam for it,
States stand supreme for it ,Liberty's beam for it,
Brightens the blue!

Here's to the whole of it ~ Stars, stripes and pole of it,
Body and soul of it, O, and the roll of it,
Sun shining through; Hearts in accord for it,
Swear by the sword for it, Thanking the Lord for it,
Red, White and Blue!

We propped him up and brushed the dirt away from his swollen lips, A
ragged breath escaped him as the guns boomed from our ships. In his
shattered arm he tried to clutch and protect an American Flag, He didn't
seem to realize that it was little more than a tattered rag.

 "I've got to plant her high, sir, that's my job you understand, Over
there on the hill behind me, it's the highest point of land. She's got
to fly high for our boys to see wherever they may be, I promised I'd get
her up there: It's my responsibility. Her field of blue like the skies
back home, mustn't carry any dirt, The stars so white call a state to
mind, a state that mustn't hurt. Her blood red stripes remind us of our
mother land before, The white bands separated us - but that was another
Will there ever be an end, sir, are we fighting just in vain? We always
say this is the last, then the guns sound off again.
Will you help me make it up the hill and help me plant her deep?"

 He didn't know he couldn't walk, he couldn't move his feet, His eyes
slowly closed and his blood ran red on the flag he loved so well, His
shattered arm released it's hold and his hand away from it fell.

 With tears and sweat streaming down like rivers of mud on our face, We
gently took the flag from him; we'd plant it in his place. Amid the
shots and confusion we struggled an inch at a time, We'd get Old Glory
on that hill, we'd make that soldier's climb.

Well, we got her there and stood her up and braced her good and tight,
and let me tell you, one and all, she sure was a beautiful sight. Her
fields of stripes were torn and frayed and blood ran down her bands, But
every soldier in her sight had his helmet in his hands.

 Every time I see her waving, it's like she is saying to me, "As long as
there are men like you, Old Glory will fly free."
 Author  Joyce Gauthier


 Hello! Remember Me?

Some call me Old Glory, others call me the Star Spangled Banner, but
 whatever they call me, I am your Flag - the Flag of the United States
 of America...There has been something that has been bothering me, so
 I thought that I might talk it over with you here today.
 I remember some time ago,  (I think it was Memorial Day, or was it
 Veterans' Day?) that people were lined up on both sides of the street
 for a parade. A high school band was behind me and, naturally, I was
 leading the parade. When your Daddy saw me coming along waving in the
 breeze, he immediately removed his hat and placed it so that his right
 hand was directly over his heart.   And you - I remember you.
 Standing there as straight as a soldier, you didn't have any hat, but
 you were giving me the right salute. Remember, they taught you in
 school to place your right hand over your heart, and little sister, not
 to be outdone, was saluting the same as you. There were some soldiers
 home on leave and they were standing at attention giving the military
 salute. Oh, I was very proud as I came down your street that day.
 Now, I may sound as if I am a little conceited, Well I am!
 I have a right to be, because I represent you, the people of the United
 States of America.
 But what happened? I am still the same old flag. Oh, I have a couple
 more stars added since you were a boy. A lot more stars added since the
 beginning of this country, and lot more blood shed since that
 patriotic day so long ago.
 Now I don't feel as proud as I used to. When I come down your street,
 some people just stand there with their hands in their pockets and give
 me a small glance and then look away. I see children running around and
 shouting. They don't seem to know who I am.
 Is it a sin to be patriotic anymore? Have some people forgotten what I
 stand for? Have they forgotten all the battlefields where men have fought
 and died to keep this nation free? When you salute me you are actually
 saluting them!
 Take a look at the memorial rolls some time. Look at the names of those
 who never came back. Some of them were friends and relatives of yours.
 That's whom you are saluting, not me!
 Well, it won't be long until I'll be coming down your street again. So,
 when you see me, stand straight, place your hand over your heart and
 you'll see me waving back-- that's my salute to you. And then I will
 know you remember who I am...
 Author unknown:
 Reprinted from VFW Post #1781 Fort Collins, Colorado



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