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Nor can Hunt, and Brooks, and Duer,

Their midnight plots secure.
For Lincoln the victory will win!

Boys, will win!
For Lincoln the victory will win!

CHORUS.

March on each serried rank,

Charge the foe in front and flank;
Our champions will conquer, never fear.

Charge home, each bold brigade,

Charge from mountain wood and glade;
And for Lincoln and Hamlin let us cheer.

Boys, cheer!
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."

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Where free winds sweep o'er hill and plain,
Bowling the storm across the main,
Wrecking the forest from the sod,

Unfettered as the will of God
No gyves restrain the wings they shake,
The winds and waves shout Wide-Awake.

The clouds "like ships" go sailing by
Through the vast "upper deep” on high,
And at their helm a winged form,
Blows the loud trumpet of the storm;
So that the vales and mountains quake
When lips of flame shout Wide-Awake!

The radiant stars in round blue skies
Watch o'er the world with sleepless eyes,
And could the music of the spheres
Be heard on earth by mortal ears,
The rapturous strain in joy would break,
The starry skies are Wide-Awake.

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.

FROI

ROM gold to gray, one mild sweet day,

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

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.”

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;
And you'd see on a time, if you follow my ditty,
How he took a straight walk up to Washington City.

His home was at Springfield out in Illinois,
Where he'd long been the pride of the men and the boys;
But he left his white house with no sign of regret
For he knew that the people had another to let.

So Abr'am he trudged on to Washington straight,
And reached the White House through the Avenue gate;
Old Buck and his cronies (some chaps from the South)
Sat round the East room “rather down in the mouth."

Ole Abe seized the knocker and gave such a thump,
Buck thought the State-ship had run into a stump,
He trembled all over and turned very pale,
“That noise,” said he, "must have been made with a rail."

“Run Lewis, run Jerry, and open the door—”
And the functionary nearly fell down on the floor.
“There's only one man knocks that way, I'm blest,
And he is that tarnal old Abe of the West.”

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At last, though reluctant, Buck opened the door,
And found a chap waiting, six feet, three or four;

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“I have come, my fine fellows," said Abe to the ring,
“To give you fair notice to vacate next Spring."

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"Come in,” says old Buck, "and sit down, Mr. LincolnThe remarks you have made are something to think on;

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