Nor can Hunt, and Brooks, and Duer, For Lincoln the victory will win! For Lincoln the victory will win! CHORUS. March on each serried rank, Charge from mountain wood and glade; And for Lincoln and Hamlin let us cheer. CHORUS. While singing, Wide-Awakes march across stage rear to opposite side, along side to front, along front to opposite side, until one long line is formed facing audience. They rest staffs on floor and torches are held against shoulders. All recite the poem "Wide-Awake." THE WIDE-AWAKE. GEORGE W. BUNGAY. HE rivers pulsing to the sea Where free winds sweep o'er hill and plain, Unfettered as the will of God No gyves restrain the wings they shake, The clouds "like ships" go sailing by The radiant stars in round blue skies The rapturous strain in joy would break, Torches are raised high; boy at R. end of line leads boys to R. side of stage where all face stage center in one long line to await rest of Wide-Awakes. Enter ten Wide-Awakes at stage back center, march in couples to stage front, separate, march R. and L., forming one long line facing audience. Boy at L. end of line steps forward and faces opposite side of stage so he may look at others on line. He recites "Eve of Election," then steps back on line. EVE OF ELECTION. JOHN G. WHITTIER. 'ROM gold to gray, one mild sweet day, FRO Of Indian Summer, fades too soon: But tenderly, above the sea, Hangs, white and calm, the Hunter's moon. In its pale fire, the village spire Transfigured stand in marble trance. O'er fallen leaves the west wind grieves, Along the street the shadows meet Of Destiny, whose bands conceal The molds of fate that shape the State, And make or mar the common weal. Around I see the powers that be; I stand by empires primal springs; And princes meet in every street, And hear the tread of uncrowned kings. Hark! through the crowd the laugh runs loud, Beneath the sad, rebuking moon; God save the land a careless band May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon. No jest is this; one cast amiss May blast the hope of Freedom's year; Oh, take me where are hearts of prayer, And foreheads bowed in reverent fear. Not lightly fall beyond recall, The written scrolls a breath can float; For pearls that gem a diadem, The diver in the deep sea dives; The regal right we boast to-night Is ours through costlier sacrifice. The blood of Vane, his prism pane, Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod; Our hearts grow cold; we lightly hold Your shadows read, and o'er us bend, O martyrs! with your crowns and palms; Breathe through these throngs your battle songs, Your scaffold prayers and dungeon psalms. Look from the sky, like God's great eye, Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. Shame from our hearts unworthy acts, To party claims and private aims, So shall our voice of sovereign choice And strike the key of time to be, When God and men shall speak as one. Boy at center of line recites "Old Abr'am." OLD ABR'AM. [Sung by Glee Club at Republican Jubilee, New York, November 8, 1860.] OLD ABRAM there was who lived out in the West, Esteemed by his neighbors the wisest and best; And you'd see on a time, if you follow my ditty, His home was at Springfield out in Illinois, Where he'd long been the pride of the men and the boys; So Abr'am he trudged on to Washington straight, Ole Abe seized the knocker and gave such a thump, "Run Lewis, run Jerry, and open the door-" At last, though reluctant, Buck opened the door, "Come in," says old Buck, "and sit down, Mr. LincolnThe remarks you have made are something to think on; |