John Hill Hewitt (1801–1890)

“FATHER, look up, and see that flag!

How gracefully it flies!

Those pretty stripes—they seem to be

A rainbow in the skies.”

“It is your country’s flag, my son,

And proudly drinks the light,

O’er ocean’s wave—in foreign climes

A symbol of our might.”

“Father, what fearful noise is that,

Like thundering in the clouds?

Why do the people wave their hats,

And rush along in crowds?”

“It is the voice of cannonry,

The glad shouts of the free:

This is a day to memory dear—

’Tis Freedom’s jubilee.”

“I wish that I was now a man;

I’d fire my cannon too,

And cheer as loudly as the rest:

But, father, why don’t you?”

“I’m getting old and weak: but still

My heart is big with joy;

I’ve witness’d many a day like this:

Shout you aloud, my boy.”

“Hurrah, for Freedom’s jubilee!

God bless our native land,

And may I live to hold the sword

Of freedom in my hand!”

“Well done! my boy: grow up and love

The land that gave you birth;

A home where Freedom loves to dwell

Is paradise on earth.”