I am the flag of the United States of America.
     My name is Old Glory.
     I fly atop the world's tallest buildings.
     I stand watch in America's halls of justice.
     I fly majestically over institutions of learning.
     I stand guard with power in the world.
     Look up and see me.

   
     I stand for peace, honor, truth and justice.
     I stand for freedom.
     I am confident.
    I am arrogant.
     I am proud.
        When I am flown with my fellow banners,
     my head is a little higher, my colors a little truer.

     I bow to no one!
     I am recognized all over the world.
     I am worshipped I am saluted.
     I am loved I am revered.
     I am respected and I am feared.

I have fought in every battle of every war
     for more than 200 years.
     I was flown at Valley Forge, Gettysburg,
     Shiloh and Appomattox.

     I was there at San Juan Hill,
     the trenches of France,
     in the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome
     and the beaches of Normandy, Guam.
     Okinawa, Korea and KheSan, Saigon, Vietnam know me,
     I was there.

 

 I led my troops,
     I was dirty, battle-tested and tired,
     but my soldiers cheered me
     And I was proud.

 

America has been attacked by cowardly fanatics
And many lives have been lost
But those who would destroy me cannot win
For I am the symbol of freedom,
Of one nation
Under God
Indivisible
With liberty and justice for all.


 

I have been burned, torn and trampled
on the streets of countries I have helped set free.
It does not hurt, for I am invincible.

I have been soiled upon, burned, torn
and trampled on the streets of my country.
And when it's by those whom I've served in battle it hurts.
But I shall overcome for I am strong.


 

I have slipped the bonds of Earth
     and stood watch over the uncharted frontiers of space
     from my vantage point on the moon.
     I have borne silent witness
     to all of America's finest hours.
     But my finest hours are yet to come.

When I am torn into strips  and used as bandages
     for my wounded comrades on the battlefield,
     When I am flown at half-mast to honor my soldier,
     Or when I lie in the trembling arms
     of a grieving parent
     at the grave of their fallen son or daughter,
     I am proud.
 

When I am torn into strips  and used as bandages
     for my wounded comrades on the battlefield,
     When I am flown at half-mast to honor my soldier,
     Or when I lie in the trembling arms
     of a grieving parent
     at the grave of their fallen son or daughter,
     I am proud.


MY NAME IS OLD GLORY
LONG MAY I WAVE !

Original Poem By Howard Schnau

Iwo Jima Photographer: Joe Rosenthal

WTC Photographer: Tom Franklin

If you would like to visit another page in my website,
you can choose from the drop-down  menu below: