Soldiers of Freedom out of the past of the race, huzza!
Don’t shoot till you see the whites of their eyes!
(_Wilder and from a different position._)
If they mean to have a war let it begin here!
[_Now rockets are bursting in the air, gorgeous beautiful rockets._]
Brothers of Freedom, out of the past of the race, your songs!
Yankee Doodle came to town, Riding on a pony, Stuck a feather in his hat And called it macaroni! Yankee Doodle....
I’ll fight it out on this line if it takes all summer! Give me liberty or give me death! Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable! Millions for defense but not one cent for tribute! A war to end war! Don’t give up the ship! Lafayette, here we are! Too proud to fight! In the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress!
John Brown’s body lies a moulding in the grave, John Brown’s body lies a moulding in the grave, John Brown’s body lies a moulding in the grave, But his soul goes marching on! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory....
Way down south in the land of cotton, Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom, Look away, look away, look away, look away! That’s the land where I was born in....
Over there! Over there! Over there! Over there! Over there! The Yanks are coming....
[_By this the light has gone from the people and shines only upon Freedom who turns and holds her hands out over all the multitude. A terrific flight of rockets bursts with a terrific explosion. Then there is absolute silence._]
(_Coming through the crowds, back down the stair._)
Children of Freedom, Out of the mind of God, Hear ye the truth-- Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees!... Can ye grow grapes from thorns or figs from thistles? What man, by taking thought, can add a cubit to his stature? Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees! To him that hath shall be given. From him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.... Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.... Seek and ye shall find....
[_With each line of the words of Jesus she has come a little further down the stair. At the last, she stands above the Chronicler’s throne and, on either side of her, two youths kneel, who have followed her down from the Choir. When she has come to the bottom of the slope and when the darkness has taken all else but her figure, she turns her back upon the audience and her hands go out as though she evoked one further image out of the past. We see it, as light scatters the darkness above her--the Common of Lexington in the cold dawn of the Glorious Morning and the line of Minute Men drawn up across it. The Chronicler rises._]