Classic Poem

The stars of the morn
On our banner borne,
With the Iris of Heaven are blended;
The hand of our sires,
First mingled those fires,
And by us they shall be defended.
Then hail the true
Red, White and Blue,
The flag of the Constellation;
It sails as it sailed,
By our forefathers hailed,
O'er battles that made us a nation.
What hand so bold
As strike from its fold
One star or one stripe of its bright'ning,
For him be those stars
Each a fiery Mars,
And each stripe be as terrible light'ning.
Then hail the true
Red, White and Blue,
The flag of the Constellation;
It sails as it sailed,
By our forefathers hailed,
O'er battles that made us a nation.

Its meteor form
Shall ride the storm
Till the fiercest of foes surrender;
The storm gone by,
It shall gild the sky,
A rainbow of peace and of splendor.
Then hail the true
Red, White and Blue,
The flag of the Constellation;
It sails as it sailed,
By our forefathers hailed,
O'er battles that made us a nation.
Peace, peace to the world,
Is our motto unfurled,
Though we shun not the field that is gory:
At home or abroad,
Fearing none but our God,
We will carve our own pathway to glory.
Then hail the true
Red, White and Blue,
The flag of the Constellation;
It sails as it sailed,
By our forefathers hailed,
O'er battles that made us a nation.