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blood-stained tyrants force the fray,?Worn warriors, battling for the right,?Crushed by oppression's cruel might,?Hear in the dark through which they grope?America's glad cry of hope:?Man's liberty is not to die!?America is standing by!?World-wide shall human lives be free:?America has crossed the sea!
America! the land we love!?God's second gift from Heaven above,?Builded and fashioned out of truth,?Sinewed by Him with splendid youth?For that glad day when shall be furled?All tyrant flags throughout the world.?For this our banner holds the sky:?That liberty shall never die.?For this, America began:?To make a brotherhood of man.
The Time for Deeds
We have boasted our courage in moments of ease,?Our star-spangled banner we've flung on the breeze;?We have taught men to cheer for its beauty and worth,?And have called it the flag of the bravest on earth?Now the dark days are here, we must stand to the test.?Oh, God! let us prove we are true to our best!
We have drunk to our flag, and we've talked of the right, We have challenged oppression to show us its might;?We have strutted for years through the world as a race?That for God and for country, earth's tyrants would face; Now the gage is flung down, hate is loosed in the world. Oh, God! shall our flag in dishonor be furled?
We have said we are brave; we have preached of the truth, We have walked in conceit of the strength of our youth; We have mocked at the ramparts and guns of the foe,?As though we believed we could laugh them all low.?Now oppression has struck! We are challenged to fight!?Oh, God! let us prove we can stand for the right!
If in honor and glory our flag is to wave,?If we are to keep this--the land of the brave;?If more than fine words are to fashion our creeds,?Now must our hands and our hearts turn to deeds.?We are challenged by tyrants our strength to reveal!?Oh, God! let us prove that our courage is real!
Everywhere in America
Not somewhere in America, but everywhere to-day,?Where snow-crowned mountains hold their heads,
the vales where children play,?Beside the bench and whirring lathe, on every
lake and stream?And in the depths of earth below, men share a
common dream--?The dream our brave forefathers had of freedom
and of right,?And once again in honor's cause, they rally and
unite.
Not somewhere in America is love of country
found,?But east and west and north and south once
more the bugles sound,?And once again, as one, men stand to break
their brother's chains,?And make the world a better place, where only
justice reigns.?The patriotism that is here, is echoed over there,?The hero at a certain post is on guard everywhere.?O'er humble home and mansion rich the starry
banner flies,?And far and near throughout the land the men
of valor rise.
The flag that flutters o'er your home is fluttering
far away?O'er homes that you have never seen. The same
impulses sway?The souls of men in distant states. The red, the
white and blue?Means to one hundred million strong, just what
it means to you.?The self-same courage resolute you feel and
understand?Is throbbing in the breasts of men throughout
this mighty land.?Not somewhere in America, but everywhere to-day,?For justice and for liberty all free men work
and pray.
The Things That Make a Soldier Great
The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die, To face the flaming cannon's mouth, nor ever question why, Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red,?The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed,?The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall: 'Tis these that make a soldier great. He's fighting for them all.
'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave; 'Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may wave; For soldiers never fight so well on land or on the foam As when behind the cause they see the little place called home. Endanger but that humble street whereon his children run-- You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun.
What is it through the battle smoke the valiant soldier sees? The little garden far away, the budding apple trees,?The little patch of ground back there, the children at their play, Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church of gray.?The golden thread of courage isn't linked to castle dome But to the spot, where'er it be--the humble spot called home.
And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there,?And homesick soldiers far away know spring is in the air; The tulips come to bloom again, the grass once more is green, And every man can see the spot where all his joys have been. He sees his children smile at him, he hears the bugle call, And only death can stop him now--he's fighting for them all.
The Flag
We never knew how much the Flag?Could mean, until he went away,?We used to boast of it