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An Essay on Patriotism by 8th Grader Brandon Fisher

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❶Choose a Quote The easiest way to approach your essay on patriotism is to choose an interesting quote of a famous person and reflect on it — to agree or disagree with the statement. It conveys with it the thought of social prevalence from the radical, judging the lifestyle, cultures and convictions of those colonized as sub-par and in need of changeover Encyclopedia, encyclopedia.

Patriotic Essays

Essay on Patriotism
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Hot Topics, Stats and Resources. Choose a Quote The easiest way to approach your essay on patriotism is to choose an interesting quote of a famous person and reflect on it — to agree or disagree with the statement.

Here are some outstanding sayings for you: It is a feeling of loyalty and allegiance that is the result of knowledge and belief.

A patriot shows their patriotism through their actions, by their choice. Your country is the land where your parents sleep, where is spoken that language in which the chosen of your heart, blushing, whispered the first word of love; it is the home that God has given you that by striving to perfect yourselves therein you may prepare to ascend to him" Giuseppe Mazzini "National honor is national property of the highest value.

Ask Yourself Another simple way out for writing patriotism essays is to answer some simple questions: Is patriotism a good or a bad thing? What role does patriotism play in your life? Is there a connection between quality of life in a country and patriotism? Should patriotism be taught in schools? Should kids say the pledge of allegiance in schools? Should citizens have the right to use the national flag to show how patriotic they are? A person who strongly supports and is ready to defend his country is a patriot.

The feelings and the qualities of a patriot are known as patriotism. Every country in the world has produced such persons. A patriot is loved and honoured by all we all are indebted to our mother-land. We are born here and we grow up on this soil. A true patriot is he who can give away his life and all for his country. The future of the country depends on its rulers. If the rulers are true patriot, they think of the interests of the country and the people.

It is the storied Mississippi rolling swift and muddy past St. Louis, rolling past Cairo, pouring down past the levees of New Orleans. It is lazy noontide in the pines of Carolina, it is a sea of wheat rippling in Western Kansas, it is the San Francisco peaks far north across the glowing nakedness of Arizona, it is the Grand Canyon and a little stream coming down out of a New England ridge, in which are trout.

It is men at work. It is the storm-tossed fishermen coming into Gloucester and Provincetown and Astoria. It is the farmer riding his great machine in the dust of harvest, the dairyman going to the barn before sunrise, the lineman mending the broken wire, the miner drilling for the blast.

It is the servants of fire in the murky splendor of Pittsburgh, between the Allegheny and the Monongahela, the trucks rumbling through the night, the locomotive engineer bringing the train in on time, the pilot in the clouds, the riveter running along the beam a hundred feet in the air. It is the clerk in the office, the housewife doing the dishes and sending the children off to school.

It is the teacher, doctor and parson tending and helping, body and soul, for small reward. It is small things remembered, the little corners of the land, the houses, the people that each one loves. We love our country because there was a little tree on a hill, and grass thereon, and a sweet valley below; because the hurdy-gurdy man came along on a sunny morning in a city street; because a beach or a farm or a lane or a house that might not seem much to others were once, for each of us, made magic.

It is voices that are remembered only, no longer heard. It is parents, friends, the lazy chat of street and store and office, and the ease of mind that makes life tranquil. It is Summer and Winter, rain and sun and storms. These are flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone, blood of our blood, a lasting part of what we are, each of us and all of us together. It is stories told. It is the Pilgrims dying in their first dreadful Winter.

It is the minute man standing his ground at Concord Bridge, and dying there. It is the army in rags, sick, freezing, starving at Valley Forge.

It is the wagons and the men on foot going westward over Cumberland Gap, floating down the great rivers, rolling over the great plains. It is the settler hacking fiercely at the primeval forest on his new, his own lands. It is corruption and disgrace, answered always by men who would not let the flag lie in the dust, who have stood up in every generation to fight for the old ideals and the old rights, at risk of ruin or of life itself.

It is a great multitude of people on pilgrimage, common and ordinary people, charged with the usual human failings, yet filled with such a hope as never caught the imaginations and the hearts of any nation on earth before.

The hope of liberty. The hope of justice. The hope of a land in which a man can stand straight, without fear, without rancor.

The land and the people and the flag, the land a continent, the people of every race, the flag a symbol of what humanity may aspire to when the wars are over and the barriers are down: That's the way we put it, simply, without any swagger, without any brag, in those four plain words. We speak them softly, just to ourselves. We roll them on the tongue, touching every syllable, getting the feel of them, the enduring flavor.

We speak them humbly, thankfully, reverently: I am an American. They are more than words, really. They are the sum of the lives of a vast multitude of men and women and wide-eyed children. They are a manifesto to mankind; speak those four words anywhere in the world -- yes, anywhere -- and those who hear will recognize their meaning. They are a pledge. A pledge that stems from a document which says: A pledge to those who dreamed that dream before it was set to paper, to those who have lived it since, and died for it.

Those words are a covenant with a great host of plain Americans, Americans who put their share of meaning into them. Listen, and you can hear the voices echoing through them, words that sprang white-hot from bloody lips, scornful lips, lips a tremble with human pity: Fight her till she dies Do you want to live forever?

Don't cheer, boys; the poor devils are dying. I've come from Alabama with my banjo. Pike's Peak or bust! When you say that, smile Wait till you see the whites of their eyes With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right I am not a Virginian, but an American. You can hear them demanding guarantees for which they suffered through the hell of war, hear a Yankee voice intoning the text of ten brief amendments.

You can hear the slow cadences of a gaunt and weary man at Gettysburg, dedicating not a cemetery, but a nation. You can hear those echoes as you walk along the streets, hear them in the rumble of traffic; you can hear them as you stand at the lathe, in the roaring factory; hear them in the clack of train wheels, in the drumming throb of the air liner; hear them in the corn fields and in the big woods and in the mine pits and the oil fields. But they aren't words any longer; they're a way of life, a pattern of living.

They're the dawn that brings another day in which to get on the job. They're the noon whistle, with a chance to get the kinks out of your back, to get a bowl of soup, a plate of beans, a cup of coffee into your belly. They're evening, with another day's work done; supper with the wife and kids; a movie, or the radio, or the newspaper or a magazine -- and no Gestapo snooping at the door and threatening to kick your teeth in.

They are a pattern of life as lived by a free people, freedom that has its roots in rights and obligations: The right to go to a church with a cross or a star or a dome or a steeple, or not to go to any church at all; and the obligation to respect others in that same right.

The right to harangue on a street corner, to hire a hall and shout your opinions till your tonsils are worn to a frazzle; and the obligation to curb your tongue now and then. The right to go to school, to learn a trade, to enter a profession, to earn an honest living; and the obligation to do an honest day's work. The right to put your side of the argument in the hands of a jury; and the obligation to abide by the laws that you and your delegates have written in the statute books.

The right to choose who shall run our government for us, the right to a secret vote that counts just as much as the next fellow's in the final tally; and the obligation to use that right, and guard it and keep it clean. The right to hope, to dream, to pray; the obligation to serve. These are some of the meanings of those four words, meanings we don't often stop to tally up or even list. Only in the stillness of a moonless night, or in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon, or in the thin dawn of a new day, when our world is close about us, do they rise up in our memories and stir in our sentient hearts.

That is not wholly so -- not today! For today we are drilling holes and driving rivets, shaping barrels and loading shells, fitting wings and welding hulls, And we are remembering Wake Island, and Bataan, and Corregidor, and Hong Kong and Singapore and Batavia; We are remembering Warsaw and Rotterdam and Rouen and Coventry. Remembering, and muttering with each rivet driven home: You could write them on your thumbnail, if you chose, Or you could sweep them all across the sky, horizon to horizon.

You could grave them on stone, you could carve them on the mountain ranges. You could sing them, to the tune of "Yankee Doodle. You needn't do any of those things, For those words are graven in the hearts of ,,00 people, they are familiar to ,, tongues, every sound and every syllable.

But when we speak them we speak them softly, proudly, gratefully: We identify the flag with almost everything we hold dear on earth. It represents our peace and security, our civil and political liberty, our freedom of religious worship, our family, our friends, our home. We see it in the great multitude of blessings, of rights and privileges that make up our country. But when we look at our flag and behold it emblazoned with all our rights, we must remember that it is equally a symbol of our duties.

Every glory that we associate with it is the result of duty done. A yearly contemplation of our flag strengthens and purifies the national conscience. George Washington, his aide-de-camp, John Francis Mercer, wrote: His frame is padded with well developed muscles, indicating great strength. His bones and joints are large, as are his feet and hands. His head is well shaped though not large, but is gracefully poised on a superb neck. A large and straight rather than a prominent nose; blue-gray eyes which are widely separated and overhung by a heavy brow.

His face is long rather than broad, with high round cheek bones, and terminates in a good firm chin. He has a clear though rather colorless pale skin, which burns with the sun.

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- Patriotism as Bad Faith Simon Keller argues in his essay "Patriotism as Bad Faith" that patriotism is not a virtue but it is actually a vice. Keller begins by splitting the views on this philosophical debate into three different representations.

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Brandon Fisher spoke at a Flag Day ceremony that I attended last week in Greenwood County, SC. I was moved by Brandon’s essay on patriotism and wanted to share it with all of you.

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The easiest way to approach your essay on patriotism is to choose an interesting quote of a famous person and reflect on it – to agree or disagree with the statement. Here are some outstanding sayings for you: "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time and your government when it deserves it.". Patriotic Essays Presented here are a some essays that I have assembled for all of you with a patriotic heart. If you have a favorite essay that you would like to contribute to .