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 | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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 | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| For Betsy’s battle flag! | |
| |
