America’s tri-color, red, white, and blue,
Flutters softly there all the long day through.
On the high, firm rock, ’bove the grassy strand,
With its heavy brace, does the flag-staff stand;
While not far down on the rough hill’s side
Is the small, rude cot, where the workers abide.
We know, ere the cold winter flitted o’er,
That want peered in through the open door;
But hearts were willing to boldly strive,
And hope and faith kept the soul alive;