unknown
Somewhere a bugle sounds.
And men inside the building wait
Until the flag comes down.
And others run to get their car,
Quite harrowed or dismayed.
Afraid they will not reach
The gate before its played.
Not thinking of the flag
Or men who fought to keep it flying.
How many would be glad to stand
Whose bodies now are mute?
Or to have no HAND that they might raise,
And stand in PROUD SALUTE.
So accept it not as a duty
But a priviledge even more.
And recieve it as in honor
Instead of just a chore.
