Hills flung the cry to hills around, And ocean-mart replied to mart, And streams, whose springs were yet unfound, Pealed far away the startling sound Into the forest's heart. Then marched the brave from rocky steep, From mountain-river swift and cold; The borders of the stormy deep, The vales where gathered waters sleep, Sent up the strong and bold,-- As if the very earth again Grew quick with God's creating breath, And, from the sods of grove and glen, Rose ranks of lion-hearted men To battle to the death. The wife, whose babe first smiled that day The fair fond bride of yestereve, And aged sire and matron gray, Saw the loved warriors haste away, And deemed it sin to grieve. Already had the strife begun; Already blood, on Concord's plain, Along the springing grass had run, And blood had flowed at Lexington, Like brooks of April rain. That death-stain on the vernal sward Hallowed to freedom all the shore; In fragments fell the yoke abhorred-- The footstep of a foreign lord Profaned the soil no more. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. The question of a national flag, which had been under consideration for a long time, was now finally settled. There is a tradition that in June, 1776, General Washington and a committee of Congress had called upon Mrs. John Ross, of Philadelphia, and requested her to make a flag after a design which Washington furnished, which she did, producing the first "stars and stripes." BETSY'S BATTLE FLAG From dusk till dawn the livelong night She kept the tallow dips alight, And fast her nimble fingers flew To sew the stars upon the blue. With weary eyes and aching head She stitched the stripes of white and red, And when the day came up the stair Complete across a carven chair Hung Betsy's battle flag. Like shadows in the evening gray The Continentals filed away, With broken boots and ragged coats, But hoarse defiance in their throats; They bore the marks of want and cold, And some were lame and some were old, And some with wounds untended bled, But floating bravely overhead Was Betsy's battle flag. When fell the battle's leaden rain, The soldier hushed his moans of pain And raised his dying head to see King George's troopers turn and flee. Their charging column reeled and broke, And vanished in the rolling smoke, Before the glory of the stars, The snowy stripes, and scarlet bars Of Betsy's battle flag. The simple stone of Betsy Ross Is covered now with mold and moss, But still her deathless banner flies, And keeps the color of the skies. A nation thrills, a nation bleeds, A nation follows where it leads, And every man is proud to yield His life upon a crimson field For Betsy's battle flag! MINNA IRVING.