Daily Globe

BY WILL CARLETON.

In the scant gloom of a garret room
With cobwebs round it creeping,
From day to day the old flag lay
A veteran worn and sleeping,
Dingily old, each wrinkled fold
By the dust of years was shaded;
Wounds of the storm were upon its form;
The crimson strips were faded.

'Twas a mournful sight in the day-twilight
This thing of humble seeming,
That once so proud o'er the cheering crowd
Had carried its colors gleaming.
Stained with mould were the braids of gold
That had flashed in the sun-ray's kissing;
Of faded hue was its field of blue,
And some of the stars were missing

Three northern maids and three from the glades
Where dreams the southland weather,
With glances kind and their arms entwined
Came up the stairs together;
They gazed a while with a thoughtful smile
At the crouching form before them;
With clinging hold they grasped its folds,
And out of the darkness bore them.

They healed its scars, they found its stars,
And brought them all together--
Three northern maids and three from the glades
Where smiles the southland weather;
They mended away through the summer day,
Made glad by an inspiration
To fling it high at the smiling sky
On the birthday of our nation.

In the brilliant glare of the summer air,
With a brisk breeze round it creeping.
Newly bright through the glistening light
The flag went grandly sweeping;
Gleaming and bold were its braids of gold,
And flashed in the sun-ray's kissing;
Red, white and blue were of deepest hue,
And none of the stars were missing.