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Nor can Hunt, and Brooks, and Duer,
Their midnight plots secure.
Boys, will win!
March on each serried rank,
Charge the foe in front and flank;
Charge home, each bold brigade,
Charge from mountain wood and glade;
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."
Where free winds sweep o'er hill and plain,
Unfettered as the will of God
The clouds "like ships" go sailing by
The radiant stars in round blue skies
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,
Of Indian Summer, fades too soon:
Hangs, white and calm, the Hunter's moon.
In its pale fire, the village spire
Shows like the Zodiac spectral lance; The painted walls whereon it falls,
Transfigured stand in marble trance.
O’er fallen leaves the west wind grieves,
Yet comes the seed-time round again; And morn shall see the State sown free
With baleful tares or healthful grain.
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; The crowning fact, the kingliest act
Of freedom, is the Freeman's vote.
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; And hers whose faith drew strength from death,
And prayed her Russell up to God.
Our hearts grow cold; we lightly hold
The right which brave men died to gain ; The right, the cord, the axe, the sword,
Grim muses at its birth of pain.
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,
Thou solemn moon, with searching beam, Till in the sun of thy pure light
Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. Shame from our hearts unworthy acts,
The fraud designed, the purpose dark; And smile away the hands we lay
Profanely on the sacred Ark.
To party claims and private aims,
Reveal that august face of Truth, To which are given the age of heaven,
The beauty of immortal youth.
So shall our voice of sovereign choice
Swell the deep bass of duty done, 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.”
(Sung by Glee Club at Republican Jubilee, New York, November 8, 1860.]
LD ABR’AM there was who lived out in the West,
Esteemed by his neighbors the wisest and best;
His home was at Springfield out in Illinois,
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;