And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourned and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night--O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear’d--O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless--O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
THE FIRST SPOKESMAN
Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep’d from
the ground, spotting the gray debris,
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the
endless grass,
Passing the yellow spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the
dark-brown fields uprisen.
Passing the apple tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.
THE SECOND SPOKESMAN
Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags, with the cities draped in
black,
With the show of the states themselves as of crape-veil’d women
standing,
With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and
unbared heads....
Here, coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac.
FOUR VOICES
From the deep secluded recesses,
From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still,
Came the carol of a bird.
FREEDOM
Come lovely and soothing death,
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later, delicate death.
Prais’d be the fathomless universe,
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious,
And for love, sweet love--but praise! praise! praise!
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.
THE FIRST SPOKESMAN
The night in silence under many a star,
The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know,
And the soul turning to thee, O base and well-veil’d death,
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.
THE SECOND SPOKESMAN
Over the tree tops I float thee a song,
Over the rising and sinking waves and the myriad fields and the
prairies wide,
Over the dense pack’d cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O death.
FOUR VOICES
Loud in the pines and cedars dim,
Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume,
And I with my comrades there in the night.
FREEDOM
Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for
the dead I loved so well,
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands--and this for
his dear sake,
Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,
There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.
THE CHOIR AND ALL THE PEOPLE
(_Very softly._)
That government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not
perish from the earth.
[_The light goes again. The crowd goes off. The bier is carried away
under cover of the darkness and to the far sound of the negroes who
sing the same song which first we heard from them._]
_Part Four_
[Illustration]
“_Our Own Day_”
[_The Chronicler rises in light._]
THE CHRONICLER
Death that takes Lincoln spares him the disillusion and the time of
waste that comes after him. The face of Freedom is covered and she
turns her gaze away from the land.
THE CHOIR
(_Fortissimo_)
Allons! Through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.
FOUR VOICES
We found our own, O my Soul, in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
[_The beginnings of light upon the scene show Freedom weeping upon
her balustrade, alone on the stair between the two halves of the
Choir._
_In the distance the Chorus begins to sing that great chantey of
American labor, “I’ve been working on the Railroad.”_
_At the back of the stage, just below the beginning of the stair, is
a pathway of light into which, from either side of the scene, come
single lines of men who bear upon their shoulders rails and ties.
Across the stage they build the transcontinental railroad, forming
sculptural and beautiful groups as they bend over the joints of
the rails and swing their sledges. When the task is completed, the
headlights of engines shine along the lines._
_Whereupon two wedges of laborers emerge from the sides of the scene,
lower down on the incline of the stage and stand in pools of flame.
That on the right is the group of steel workers. That on the left is
the group of coal miners._
_Whereupon, still lower down stage, two other wedges emerge,
similarly dressed and lighted. They are the groups of farmers and of
builders. Whereupon the forestage is filled with women and children
of a most sorrowful and wretched aspect and with little old men,
poorly dressed and meek of manner._
_All of this movement has been executed to the great march of
labor which is built upon the theme of “I’ve been working on the
Railroad.” The band has taken it up from the Chorus and woven it
into a minor dirge and into bizarre dissonances and elaborated it
with syncopations and new themes played upon strange instruments and
sung by the voices of the Chorus so that the whole thing is at once
triumphal and macabre. It rises to magnificent climaxes and subsides
again so that the speakers, the crowds, the Choir and the Spokesmen
may be clearly audible._
_At the same time the Spokesmen and the Choir speak antiphonally
against the action and complete the prophecy of Walt Whitman._]
EIGHT VOICES
The shapes arise!
THE FIRST SPOKESMAN
Shapes of factories, arsenals, foundries, markets!
THE SECOND SPOKESMAN
Shapes of the two threaded tracks of railroads!
THE FIRST SPOKESMAN
Shapes of the sleepers of bridges, vast frameworks, girders, arches!
THE SECOND SPOKESMAN
Shapes of the fleets of barges, tows, lake and canal craft, river craft!
THE FIRST SPOKESMAN
Shipyards and drydocks along the eastern and western seas and in many a
bay and by-place!
THE SECOND SPOKESMAN
The ships themselves on their ways, the tiers of scaffolds, the workmen.
THE FIRST SPOKESMAN
The shape of the family home, the home of the friendly parents and
children.
FULL CHOIR
The shapes arise!
FOUR VOICES
Shapes of Democracy, total, result of centuries!
EIGHT VOICES
Shapes ever projecting other shapes!
TWELVE VOICES
Shapes of turbulent manly cities!
TWENTY VOICES
Shapes of friends and home givers to the whole earth!
FULL CHOIR
Shapes bracing the earth and braced with the whole earth!
FOUR VOICES
In the labor of engines and trades and the labor of fields
I find the developments
And find the eternal meanings....
THE RAILROAD BUILDERS
O Freedom, in your name,
We have built a railroad across a continent
And linked the east and the west with strips of steel;
We have worked, Freedom, for the empire which is yours,
For that which is not yours is nothing.
[_Freedom lifts her head and listens._]
THE STEEL WORKERS
Steel! Steel! Steel!
Flame and smoke and blood!
We have pounded with our fists, Freedom,
And forged with our hearts,
And our bodies have fed the furnaces,
That your empire, Freedom, might endure in steel
Over the land and upon the seas.
[_Freedom listens still but gives no sign._]
THE COAL MINERS
Though we died in the depths of the earth, we have given coal,
Freedom, in your name.
Though we had many masters, we owned no rule but yours,
For that is vain which is not done for Freedom.
THE FARMERS
In your name, Freedom,
We have cleared forests and made deserts bloom
And covered the states with corn and wheat and herds,
And suffered droughts and storms, Freedom,
That yours might be a great empire.
THE BUILDERS
Freedom, we have built the fences of your farmers and the roofs of
your cities,
We have made machines of your empire, Freedom, and we have built our
lives into its structure,
For you, Freedom, only for you.
THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN
We have given, Freedom, in your hands, our youth and our health and
our beauty
In the fields, and the factories of your empire, Freedom, we have
given all that we had to give,
Holding always to our faith in you.
THE MEEK MEN
Durably, without complaint, day after day,
We have filled the little tasks of your empire, Freedom,
Performed little duties and earned little wages,
Without complaining, without understanding,
Save that we worked in your name.
THE WHOLE CROWD
Reward us, Freedom!
THE CHOIR
Workmen and Workwomen!
I do not affirm that what you see beyond is futile ...
I do not say leading you, thought great are not great ...
But I say that none lead to greater than these lead to.
THE WHOLE CROWD
Reward us, Freedom!
[_With one accord the whole crowd turns and lifts its hands to
Freedom. A sudden hush comes and the light on the crowd begins to
pale._]
FOUR VOICES
We found our own, O my Soul, in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
THE CHRONICLER
The word is Roosevelt’s.
[_The crowd turns towards the audience and listens as the Spokesmen
speak words of Roosevelt’s._]
THE FIRST SPOKESMAN
No nation great as ours can escape the penalty of greatness. Ours is a
government of liberty by, through and under the law.
THE SECOND SPOKESMAN
No man is above it and no man is below it.
EIGHT VOICES
We found our own, O my Soul, in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
THE CHRONICLER
The word is Wilson’s.
THE FIRST SPOKESMAN
There has been something crude and heartless and unfeeling in our haste
to succeed and be great.
THE SECOND SPOKESMAN
The great government we loved has too often been made use of for
private and selfish purposes and those who used it had forgotten the
people.
[_Through all this the music has progressed sometimes tempestuously,
sometimes lyrically. Now it becomes swiftly and terribly sinister
and, behind Freedom, where she sits immobile upon her throne,
flashes of light, bloody and flaming, run along the balustrade of
the uppermost level and the eyes of the people are turned fearfully
upwards. Freedom does not move._]
THE CHRONICLER
The world is filled with dread and a great war wages but still Freedom
holds aloof from her people, for this war is not waged in her name
until the prophet, speaking, gives it meaning.
THE FULL CHOIR
Allons, through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.
THE CHRONICLER
Again, the word is Wilson’s.
[_Freedom rises._
_The lurid terrace shifts and swarms with figures seen through smoke.
Now a new army of olive drab bursts up over the crest and the next
lines are shouted by the Choir over a wild pantomime of battle._]
FIRST SPOKESMAN AND EIGHT VOICES
We are glad now to fight thus for the ultimate peace of the world and
for the liberation of its peoples.
THE SECOND SPOKESMAN AND SIXTEEN VOICES
The world must be made safe for democracy.
FREEDOM AND FOUR VOICES
To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything
that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of those who
know that the day is come when America is privileged to spend her blood
and her might for the principles that gave her birth and happiness and
the peace which she has treasured.
THE WHOLE CHOIR
God helping her, she can do no other!
[_A great frenzy of enthusiasm takes the crowd and the music lifts
itself into a supreme climax. But Freedom’s two arms go up for
silence and the four Voices are heard again, the words of Carl
Sandburg._]
EIGHT VOICES
(_Intoning upon a high wild note._)
Smash down the cities,
Knock the walls to pieces.
Break the factories and cathedrals, warehouses and homes
Into loose piles of stone and lumber and black burnt wood:
You are the soldiers and we command you.
[_The light dies upon the uppermost terrace and increases upon the
crowd._]
FOUR OTHER VOICES
Build up the cities.
Set up the walls again.
Put together once more the factories and cathedrals, warehouses and
homes
Into buildings for life and labor;
You are the workmen and citizens all: We command you.
[_Again Freedom’s face falls. She comes disconsolately down the
stair._]
THE PEOPLE
Ah!
FOUR OTHER VOICES
(_Again from Sandburg._)
Make us one new dream, us who forgot,
Out of the storm let us have one star.
[_She stops and looks mournfully down upon them, all the people, and
shakes her head._
_Whereupon, the music going mad again, the people begin all to move
and shift about in little, futile designs and, at the same time, on
Freedom’s left, a cone of men shoot acrobatically up. There are not
more than a dozen figures in it. They wear hot purples and outrageous
masks and speak in unison._]
THE CONE
You people,
What are you to Freedom?
What is Freedom to you?
You have no rights, but only duties.
Produce!
Faster and faster.
Harder and harder.
It doesn’t matter
How tired you are.
Produce, do you hear?
[_Whereupon a second cone shoots up on Freedom’s right. It is exactly
like the first except that the men in it are dressed in dirty red and
orange._]
THE SECOND CONE
You people!
Stand up for your rights!
To hell with your duties!
Do you want Freedom?
Well, then, organize!
Wealth is labor!
Property is labor!
Capital is labor!
Organize!
[_Whereupon a third cone shoots up at Freedom’s very feet, a cone all
of black with senatorial hats topping the masked faces._]
THE THIRD CONE
You people!
Forget about freedom!
Government’s government.
Republican. Democrat.
Right or wrong,
My country still!
The Constitution,
Wonderful instrument!
Land of the Free
And the home of the Brave!
Politics. Politics.
Don’t forget Washington,
Lincoln or Hamilton.
What did they tell you?
Worship the government.
[_The three cones disappear as magically as they appeared and, in
their place about Freedom’s feet, is a fan of scarlet figures._]
THE FAN
You masses! You masses! You masses!
Do you know your power?
Do you know your meaning?
Do you know what you can do?
We’re Freedom.
We’re Russia!
We’re God!
Awake masses!
You are the state!
You are the world!
You are the universe!
Take what is yours.
[_All this while the people, to swifter and swifter music, always
more and more macabre and dissonant, have moved ever and ever more
swiftly. Now the music comes back to a horrible parody of “I’ve been
working on the Railroad” and the movement takes shape in designs and
formal groups, large and small. And the men who made up three cones
and the fan surge over the stair and drag Freedom down so that she is
lost in the whirling mob. And the light, broken and colorful, dies to
gloom and the movement is a movement of patterns and the music drowns
all, singing and instrumental. Then, just at the front of the stage,
just above the throne of the Chronicler, a single ray of white light
breaks upon Freedom again and, along the upper level, the light once
more lifts, and as Freedom begins to speak, it seems to be daybreak._]
FREEDOM
Lost! Lost! Lost!
[_The desperate cry pierces all the tumult and brings complete
silence upon the scene._]
O People, my People, my People,
Where are your wits and your hearts and your souls?
What have you done with the destiny I left you?
Fools! Fools! Fools!
[_A stricken sigh goes up from the people and those about Freedom
fall upon their knees._]
Man does not seek the dream that is not his,
Nor dream the search to which he was not destined,
Nor hope for that which he does not believe.
Who would be free is free;
Who would be otherwise is otherwise.
Ever man is himself man’s enemy;
Ever man’s fear to be himself shall be
Between man and man’s liberty.
[_A murmur goes up from the people. She looks sorrowfully and
majestically over them._]
Soldiers of Freedom!
Comrades of Freedom!
Brothers of Freedom!
Children of Freedom!
Not slaves, but men!
Not sheep, but men!
Not masses, but men!
I cannot set you free who were born free.
Nor strike your shackles off who were born slaves.
Be to yourselves yourselves, the rest is glory.
[_A louder murmur and many of the crowd lift their hands to her._]
Workmen and workwomen!
Children and aged!
You were born of the past!
You are pledged to the future.
[_She goes a little up among the kneeling crowd._]
Soldiers of Freedom,
Comrades of Freedom,
Brothers of Freedom,
You! You! And You!
I lead again! I live again! I love!
Who dares to follow now!
Who comes beside me, bravely and alone,
Not one of masses, but as man alone?
What, none?
Are you all masses, then?
[_Some of them come eagerly up to her._]
You, have you faith?
You, are you honest?
You, is your spirit strong?
You, can you face the sun?
Why then, come on!
Come on! On! On!
I lead--Come on! Come on!
[_She plunges up the slope toward the light, her own refulgence
illuminating those who come immediately after her. The music reaches
its wildest and highest point as the crowds falling in widely behind
her, begins to ascend the slope. Freedom is seen to pause and wave
the crowd on and a great cone of humanity moves up the stair. Then
the music stops upon a tremendous major resolution and Freedom is
standing at the top of the stair at last and all the people, their
arms reached upwards to her, are spread out below and the light is
blinding. The music gives way to a rolling of drums and from the
hills come crazy voices invoked by the wild cries and the wilder arms
of Freedom most transfigured, most blazing of all._]
FREEDOM
Soldiers of Freedom out of the past of the race, huzza!
A VOICE
(_Screaming wildly._)
Don’t shoot till you see the whites of their eyes!
FREEDOM
Again!
ANOTHER VOICE
(_Wilder and from a different position._)
If they mean to have a war let it begin here!
FREEDOM
Again!
ANOTHER VOICE
Trust in God and keep your powder dry!
ANOTHER VOICE
We have not yet begun to fight!
[_Now rockets are bursting in the air, gorgeous beautiful rockets._]
FREEDOM
Brothers of Freedom, out of the past of the race, your songs!
SEVERAL VOICES
(_Singing wildly._)
Yankee Doodle came to town,
Riding on a pony,
Stuck a feather in his hat
And called it macaroni!
Yankee Doodle....
OTHER VOICES
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!
OTHER VOICES
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....
OTHER VOICES
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....
OTHER VOICES
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._]
FREEDOM
(_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._]
THE CHRONICLER
One hundred and fifty years ago there was fought upon this place a
battle. Out of that battle came a nation and a nation’s race and a
race’s vision of freedom.
[_Then the four boys from the Choir speak together as the light
goes._]
THE FOUR BOYS
The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but
it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living,
rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who
fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be
here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these
honored dead we take increased devotion; that we here highly resolve
that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under
God, shall have a new birth of Freedom; and that government of the
people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.
[_The darkness is now complete. The Chronicler has closed his book.
In the hills, a bugle blows taps. The play is finished._]
_The citizens of Lexington, the Birthplace of American Liberty,
realizing they are custodians of America’s greatest shrine, extend a
welcome to_ EVERYONE, _not only on the 19th of April and Pageant Week,
June 15th to 20th, 1925_, BUT EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR, _to visit our
battlefield, the historic buildings, and at all times to feel at home.
This historic spot belongs to the Nation, and we want all Americans to
feel they are part owners so that on leaving the town they may have a
better realization of the struggles made by our forefathers and become
better and more patriotic citizens._
_Publications for Sale by the Lexington Historical Society_
“The Battle of April 19, 1775, in Lexington, Concord, Lincoln,
Arlington, Cambridge, Somerville and Charlestown.” New Edition, 1922.
By Frank Warren Coburn. Illustrated. 200 pp. Price $1.75.
“The Battle on Lexington Common, April 19, 1775,” a paper read before
the Lexington Historical Society, December 12, 1916, by Frank Warren
Coburn. Illustrated. Published in 1918. 60 pp. Price $2.50.
“Lexington, the Birthplace of American Liberty.” A hand-book. By Fred
S. Piper. 1923. 62 pp. Price $0.50, postage 10 cents.
Hudson’s “History of Lexington.” Revised Edition. In two volumes. 1913.
Vol. I, History; 583 pp. Vol. II, Genealogies; 897 pp. Withdrawn.
“Guide Book to Hancock-Clark House.” A descriptive catalogue of the
historical collection of the Lexington Historical Society on exhibition
in the house where Hancock and Adams were sleeping when aroused by Paul
Revere. Illustrated. 24 pp. Price $0.20.
“Epitaphs in the Old Burying Grounds, Lexington.” By Francis Brown,
M.D. With map. 8vo. About 200 pp. Price $1.00.
“Proceedings of the Lexington Historical Society.” Historical and
Memorial papers read before the Society. Illustrated. Vols. I, II, III,
IV. 8vo. About 250 pp. each. Price $1.00 per volume. Vol. I out of
print.
Note that Vol. II, out of print for many years, can now be supplied.
“A Sketch of the Munroe Clan.” 1900. By James Phinney Munroe. Paper. 75
pp. Price $0.50. Out of print.
“Lexington, Mass., Record of Births, Marriages and Deaths” to January
1, 1898. Cloth. 484 pp. Sent on receipt of 25 cents postage.
“Two Hundredth Anniversary of the Incorporation of the Town of
Lexington.” 1913. Proceedings and Addresses. Paper. 37 pp. Price $0.20.
“Lexington Historical Society. A sketch of its origin and
achievements.” 1886-1912. By Fred S. Piper. Paper. 10 pp. Price $0.10.
“The Rev. Jonas Clark, Minister and Patriot in Lexington for 50 Years.”
1755-1805. By Rev. Charles F. Carter. 1912. 10 pp. Price $0.10.
“Munroe Tavern--the Custodian’s Story.” 1925. 31 pp. Price $0.35.
18 Postal Card Views of Historic Lexington, 8 of which are copyrighted
including the Hancock-Clark House, Buckman Tavern, Munroe Tavern,
Minuteman Statue, interiors, etc. Price $0.03 each, $0.45 the set.
Photographs. The Lexington Historical Society has an extensive
collection of photographs of Historic Lexington. Printed on heavy paper
(usually 7-1/2 × 9). Price $1.25 each, postage paid.
Other volumes and Lantern Slides in preparation.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.