Flag Of The Free

A poem by Edward Smyth Jones

Flag of the free, our sable sires
Have borne thee oft before
Into hot battles' hell-lit fires,
Against the fiercest foe.
When first he shook his shaggy mein,
And made the welkin ring,
Brave Attucks fell upon the Plain,
Thy stripes first crimsoning!

Thy might and majesty we hurl,
Against the bolts of Mars;
And from thy ample folds unfurl
Thy field of flaming stars!
Fond hope to nations in distress,
Thy starry gleam shall give;
The stricken in the wilderness
Shall look to thee and live.

What matter if where Boreas roars,
Or where sweet zephyr smiles?
What matter if where eagle soars,
Or in the sunlit isles?
Thy flowing crimson stripes shall wave
Above the bluish brine;
Emblazoned ensign of the brave,
And Liberty enshrine!

Flag of the free, still float on high
Through every age to come;
Bright beacon of the azure sky,
True light of Freedom's dome.
'Till nations all shall cease to grope
In vain for liberty--
O shine, last lingering star of hope
Of all humanity!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Flag Of The Free' by Edward Smyth Jones

comments powered by Disqus