Full many a flag the breeze has kissed; Through ages long the morning sun Has risen o'er the early mist The flags of men to look upon. And some were red against the sky, And some with colors true were gay, And some in shame were born to die, For Flags of hate must pass away. Such symbols fall as men depart, Brief is the reign of arrant might; The vicious and the vile at heart Give way in time before the right. A flag is nothing in itself; It but reflects the lives of men; And they who lived and toiled for pelf Went out as vipers in a den. God cleans the sky from time to time Of every tyrant flag that flies, And every brazen badge of crime Falls to the ground and swiftly dies. Proud kings are mouldering in the dust; Proud flags of ages past are gone; Only the symbols of the just Have lived and shall keep living on. So long as we shall serve the truth, So long as honor stamps us fair, Each age shall pass unto its youth Old Glory proudly flying there! But if we fail our splendid past, If we prove faithless, weak and base, That age shall be our banner's last; A fairer flag shall take its place. This flag we fling unto the skies Is but an emblem of our hearts, And when our love of freedom dies, Our banner with our race departs. Full many a flag the breezes kiss, Full many a flag the sun has known, But none so bright and fair as this; None quite so splendid as our own! This tells the world that we are men Who cling to manhood's ways and truth; It is our soul's great voice and pen, The strength of age, the guide of youth, And it shall ever hold the sky So long as we shall keep our trust; But if our love of right shall die Our Flag shall sink into the dust. The Toy-Strewn Home Give me the house where the toys are strewn, Where the dolls are asleep in the chairs, Where the building blocks and the toy balloon And the soldiers guard the stairs. Let me step in a house where the tiny cart With the horses rules the floor, And rest comes into my weary heart, For I am at home once more. Give me the house with the toys about, With the battered old train of cars, The box of paints and the books left out, And the ship with her broken spars. Let me step in a house at the close of day That is littered with children's toys, And dwell once more in the haunts of play, With the echoes of by-gone noise. Give me the house where the toys are seen, The house where the children romp, And I'll happier be than man has been 'Neath the gilded dome of pomp. Let me see the litter of bright-eyed play Strewn over the parlor floor, And the joys I knew in a far-off day Will gladden my heart once more. Whoever has lived in a toy-strewn home, Though feeble he be and gray, Will yearn, no matter how far he roam, For the glorious disarray Of the little home with its littered floor That was his in the by-gone days; And his heart will throb as it throbbed before, When he rests where a baby plays.