If, dying, we still keep you waving on high
And so, by our love
For you, floating above,
And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof,
Who gave you the name of Old Glory, and why
Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory?

Then the old banner leaped like a sail in the blast,
And fluttered an audible answer at last
And it spake with a shake of the voice, and it said:
By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red
Of my bars and their heaven of stars overhead--
By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast,
As I float from the steeple or flap at the mast,
Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod,--
My name is as old as the glory of God
So I came by the name of Old Glory.

* * * * *
[Footnote 1: This and the following poems are used by the courteous
permission of the publishers, Messrs. Bobbs, Merrill, & Co.,
Indianapolis.]

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
AMERICA, 1807-1882

KAVANAGH

Ah, how wonderful is the advent of the spring!--
the great annual miracle of the blossoming of Aaron's