Behold the flag! Is it not a flag?
Deny it, man, if you dare;
And midway spread, 'twixt earth and sky,
It hangs like a written prayer.
Would impious hand of foe disturb.
Its memories' holy spell,
And blight it with a dew of blood?
Ha, tr-r-aitor!! * * * It is well.
And this is the last of the rejected anthems I can quote from at present, my boy, though several hundred pounds yet remain untouched.
Yours, questioningly,