Quotes about flag, page 25
Abolition Of Slavery In The District Of Columbia, 1862
When first I saw our banner wave
Above the nation's council-hall,
I heard beneath its marble wall
The clanking fetters of the slave!
In the foul market-place I stood,
And saw the Christian mother sold,
And childhood with its locks of gold,
Blue-eyed and fair with Saxon blood.
I shut my eyes, I held my breath,
And, smothering down the wrath and shame
That set my Northern blood aflame,
Stood silent, where to speak was death.
Beside me gloomed the prison-cell
Where wasted one in slow decline
For uttering simple words of mine,
And loving freedom all too well.
The flag that floated from the dome
Flapped menace in the morning air;
I stood a perilled stranger where
The human broker made his home.
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Astræa at the Capitol
WHEN first I saw our banner wave
Above the nation's council-hall,
I heard beneath its marble wall
The clanking fetters of the slave!
In the foul market-place I stood,
And saw the Christian mother sold,
And childhood with its locks of gold,
Blue-eyed and fair with Saxon blood.
I shut my eyes, I held my breath,
And, smothering down the wrath and shame
That set my Northern blood aflame,
Stood silent,--where to speak was death.
Beside me gloomed the prison-cell
Where wasted one in slow decline
For uttering simple words of mine,
And loving freedom all too well.
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Recollect Church
Quickly are crumbling the old gray walls,
Soon the last stone will be gone,
The olden church of the Recollects,
We shall look no more upon;
And though, perchance, some stately pile
May rise its place to fill,
With carven piers and lofty towers,
Old Church, we shall miss thee still!
Though not like Europe’s ancient fanes,
Moss-grown and ivied o’er
Bearing long centuries’ darkened stains
On belfry and turrets hoar—
A hundred years and more hast thou
Thy shadow o’er us cast;
And we claim thee in our country’s youth
As a land-mark of the past.
Thou’st seen the glittering Fleur-de-lys
Fling out its folds on high
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poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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The Perfect Marriage
I
I hate this yoke; for the world's sake here put it on:
Knowing 'twill weigh as much on you till life is gone.
Knowing you love your freedom dear, as I love mine—
Knowing that love unchained has been our life's great wine:
Our one great wine (yet spent too soon, and serving none;
Of the two cups free love at last the deadly one).
II
We grant our meetings will be tame, not honey-sweet
No longer turning to the tryst with flying feet.
We know the toil that now must come will spoil the bloom
And tenderness of passion's touch, and in its room
Will come tame habit, deadly calm, sorrow and gloom.
Oh, how the battle sears the best who enter life!
Each soidier comes out blind or lame from the black strife.
Mad or diseased or damned of soul the best may come—
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poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Crossing America: July 4,2005
Crossing America,
I see small nations within its cities,
neighborhoods of people
who dream of happiness in myriad languages, and
who love America no less
because they cannot yet use the magic tongue.
A tenth generation American,
with roots that can be traced to
Boston gentry
and pioneers,
I wait in line
for a hamburger and milkshake with people who come from
the other side of the world,
still learning how it is done in the land of dreams.
Crossing America,
I hear children pledge fealty to our flag
and hope that what sometimes is
an exercise in thoughtless ceremony
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poem by Ken Nye
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123.Kumaragurupara Swamigal’s Sakalakalavalli Maalai-Stanza 5
Stanza 5
Tamil Transliteration:
Panchap pidhantharu seiyaporr paapang kaerugamenn
Nennjath thadaththala raadhadhennae nedunth that kamalth
Thanjath thuvasa muyarththoansenn naavu magamumvellaikk
Kanjath thavisoth thirundhdhaai sakala kalaavalliyae!
Translation Poem
Occupying Brahman’s red tongue,
Who is holding high, the flag of
Swan white, with long legs red complexion
beating the red colour of lotus into oblivion
and also occupying His great heart
and seated on the white lotus flower
in a beautiful sitting posture
Hey Mother! White swan!
Master of all arts and science!
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poem by Rajagopal Haran
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Across The Lines
Left for dead? I—Charlie Coleman,
On the field we won—and lost,
Like a dog; the ditch my death-bed
My pillow but a log across.
Helpless hangs my arm beside me,
Drooping lies my aching head;
How strange it sounded when that soldier,
Passing, spoke of me as "dead."
Dead? and here—where yonder banner
Flaunts its scanty group of stars,
And that rebel emblem binds me
Close within those bloody bars.
Dead? without a stone to tell it,
Nor a flower above my breast!
Dead? where none will whisper softly,
"Here a brave man lies at rest!"
Help me, Thou, my mother's helper,—
Jesus, Thou who biding here,
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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from Pen Pictures of the War (1864)
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Loyalty to the Flag
In the love of home and country and the flag of Uncle Sam,
Can the loyalty be doubted of a dusky son of Ham?
Wheresoever duty calls him, as a freedman or a slave,
The response is ever hearty when 'Old Glory' he would save.
'Twas the war of Revolution, when a Negro's blood was first,
To be shed for independence, when a yoke the land had cursed;
Crispus Attucks died in Boston, on State street he paid the debt,
Liberty his blood has planted and the tree is growing yet.
Ask the spirit of Pitcairn how he came to meet his death?
Where and who it was that brought him down to breathe the dying breath?
'Twas the Negro Salem's bullet at the charge of Bunker's Hill,
Bringing to the whites their freedom but to Negroes naught but ill.
In the battle of New Orleans, eighteen fourteen was the year,
When the Negro fought with valor till the victory was clear;
Jackson paid this glowing tribute—may the spirit never lag—
'None more strong and none more useful, none more loyal to the flag.'
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poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Fifty Years (1863-1913)
O brothers mine, to-day we stand
Where half a century sweeps our ken,
Since God, through Lincoln's ready hand,
Struck off our bonds and made us men.
Just fifty years - a winter's day -
As runs the history of a race;
Yet, as we look back o'er the way,
How distant seems our starting place!
Look farther back! Three centuries!
To where a naked, shivering score,
Snatched from their haunts across the seas,
Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia's shore.
This land is ours by right of birth,
This land is ours by right of toil;
We helped to turn its virgin earth,
Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.
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poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn
We lay at St. Helen's, and easy she rode
With one anchor catted and fresh-water stowed;
When the barge came alongside like bullocks we roared,
For we knew what we carried with Nelson aboard.
Our Captain was Hardy, the pride of us all,
I'll ask for none better when danger shall call;
He was hardy by nature and Hardy by name,
And soon by his conduct to honour he came.
The third day the Lizard was under our lee,
Where the _Ajax_ and _Thunderer_ joined us at sea,
But what with foul weather and tacking about,
When we sighted the Fleet we were thirteen days out.
The Captains they all came aboard quick enough,
But the news that they brought was as heavy as duff;
So backward an enemy never was seen,
They were harder to come at than Cheeks the Marine.
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poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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