I was flown at Valley Forge, Gettysburg, 
Shiloh and Appamatox. 
I was there at San Juan Hill, 
the trenches of France, 
in the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome 
and the beaches of Normandy, Guam. 
Okinawa, Korea and KheSan,
Saigon, Vietnam know me, 
I was there. 



I led my troops, 
I was dirty, battle worn and tired, 
but my soldiers cheered me 
And I was proud. 
I have been burned, torn and trampled 
on the streets of countries I have helped set free. 
It does not hurt, for I am invincible. 

I have been soiled upon, burned, torn 
and trampled on the streets of my country. 
And when it's by those whom I've served in battle -- it hurts. 
But I shall overcome -- for I am strong. 

I have slipped the bonds of Earth 
and stood watch over the uncharted frontiers of space 
from my vantage point on the moon. 
I have borne silent witness 
to all of America's finest hours. 
But my finest hours are yet to come. 

When I am torn into strips 
and used as bandages 
for my wounded comrades on the battlefield, 
When I am flown at half-mast to honor my soldier, 
Or when I lie in the trembling arms 
of a grieving parent 
at the grave of their fallen son or daughter, 
I am proud. 


MY NAME IS OLD GLORY 
LONG MAY I WAVE. 
DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN 
LONG MAY I WAVE 

Original Poem by: Harold Schnauber

Iwo Jima Photographer: Joe Rosenthal

PLEASE FORWARD MY MESSAGE TO ALL WHO 
STILL LOVE AND RESPECT ME, 
THAT I MAY FLY PROUDLY FOR
ANOTHER TWO HUNDRED YEARS.