Old Glory

Old Glory Old Glory, wave on, o'er the land of the free, The home of the fair and the brave; The land where oppression from mountain to sea Finds only a place for a grave. The hands of a nation grasp firmly thy staff. In triumph they bear thee along; We join in the chorus of millions before us, Still pledging our banner in song. Chorus We'll come at the call of thy colors, Old Flag; We're ready for duty today; We'll serve where you want us to sei e, Old Flag; We'll pay what you want us to pay. Old Glory, float on, o'er the shop and the farm, And wave at the mouth of the mine; And flutter in front of our chariots of fire, And over our birds of the brine. The coo of the babe, and the beat of the drum, The voice of the nurse and the gun Shall swell the refrain, while we sing once again The song that our fathers have sung. Wave, Glory, wave on, when the world shall be free And the peace dove has builded her nest, When the war clouds no more shall darken the shore, And the billows of strife are at rest; When the Goddess of Right and the Champion Might Shall meet at the altar of love, And under thy stars and thy symbolic bars, We sing with the heavens above. George H. Brimhall.