PROGRAMME NO. 1 FOR FOURTH OF JULY.
The following programme can be varied as occasion may require by additional exercises or by substituting others for those here suggested. The platform should be decorated with flags and patriotic emblems. In addition to the singing of patriotic airs, there should be music by a band or orchestra. Each of the children should be furnished with a small flag. Let all the exercises be very spirited.
MUSIC—By the Band or Orchestra.
SINGING—Tune: “America.”
My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrim’s pride,
From every mountain-side
Let freedom ring.
My native country, thee—
Land of the noble free—
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.
Let music swell the breeze
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom’s song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break—
The sound prolong.
Our fathers’ God, to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With Freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King.
Samuel F. Smith.
READING—The Declaration of Independence.
RECITATION—The Fourth of July.
To the sages who spoke, to the heroes who bled,
To the day and the deed, strike the harp-strings of glory!
Let the song of the ransomed remember the dead,
And the tongue of the eloquent hallow the story,
O’er the bones of the bold
Be that story long told,
And on fame’s golden tablets their triumphs enrolled
Who on freedom’s green hills freedom’s banner unfurled,
And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world!
They are gone—mighty men!—and they sleep in their fame:
Shall we ever forget them? Oh, never! no, never!
Let our sons learn from us to embalm each great name,
And the anthem send down—“Independence forever!”
Wake, wake, heart and tongue!
Keep the theme ever young;
Let their deeds through the long line of ages be sung
Who on freedom’s green hills freedom’s banner unfurled,
And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world!
Charles Sprague.
MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra.
READING—The Vow of Washington.
The sword was sheathed: in April’s sun
Lay green the fields by freedom won;
And severed sections, weary of debates,
Joined hands at last and were United States.
O city, sitting by the sea!
How proud the day that dawned on thee,
When the new era, long desired, began,
And, in its need, the hour had found the man!
One thought the cannon salvos spoke;
The resonant bell-tower’s vibrant stroke,
The voiceful streets, the plaudit-echoing halls,
And prayer and hymn borne heavenward from St. Paul’s!
How felt the land in every part
The strong throb of a nation’s heart,
As its great leader gave, with reverent awe,
His pledge to union, liberty and law!
That pledge the heavens above him heard,
That vow the sleep of centuries stirred;
In world-wide wonder listening peoples bent
Their gaze on freedom’s great experiment.
Could it succeed? Of honor sold
And hopes deceived all history told.
Above the wrecks that strewed the mournful past
Was the long dream of ages true at last?
Thank God! the people’s choice was just,
The one man equal to his trust,
Wise beyond lore, and without weakness good,
Calm in the strength of flawless rectitude!
His rule of justice, order, peace,
Made possible the world’s release;
Taught prince and serf that power is but a trust,
And rule, alone, which serves the ruled, is just;
That freedom generous is, but strong
In hate of fraud and selfish wrong,
Pretense that turns her holy truths to lies,
And lawless license masking in her guise.
Land of his love! with one glad voice
Let thy great sisterhood rejoice;
A century’s suns o’er thee have risen and set,
And, God be praised, we are one nation yet.
And still, we trust, the years to be
Shall prove his hope was destiny,
Leaving our flag with all its added stars
Unrent by faction and unstained by wars!
Lo! where with patient toil he nursed
And trained the new-set plant at first,
The widening branches of a stately tree
Stretched from the sunrise to the sunset sea.
And in its broad and sheltering shade,
Sitting with none to make afraid,
Were we now silent, through each mighty limb,
The winds of heaven would sing the praise of him.
Our first and best—his ashes lie
Beneath his own Virginian sky.
Forgive, forget, O true and just and brave,
The storm that swept above thy sacred grave!
For, ever in the awful strife
And dark hours of the nation’s life,
Through the fierce tumult pierced his warning word,
Their father’s voice his erring children heard!
The change for which he prayed and sought
In that sharp agony was wrought;
No partial interest draws its alien line
’Twixt North and South, the cypress and the pine!
One people now, all doubt beyond,
His name shall be our Union-bond;
We lift our hands to heaven, and here, and now,
Take on our lips the old Centennial vow.
For rule and trust must needs be ours;
Chooser and chosen both our powers
Equaled in service as in rights; the claim
Of duty rests on each and all the same.
Then let the sovereign millions, where
Our banner floats in sun and air,
From the warm palm-lands to Alaska’s cold,
Repeat with us the pledge a century old!
John Greenleaf Whittier.
DECLAMATION—The Little Mayflower.
And now—for the fulness of time is come—let us go up, in imagination to yonder hill, and look out upon the November scene. That single dark speck, just discernible through the perspective glass, on the waste of waters, is the fated vessel. The storm moans through her tattered canvas, as she creeps, almost sinking, to her anchorage in Provincetown harbor; and there she lies, with all her treasures, not of silver and gold (for of these she has none), but of courage, of patience, of zeal, of high spiritual daring.
So often as I dwell in imagination on this scene; when I consider the condition of the Mayflower, utterly incapable, as she was, of living through another gale; when I survey the terrible front presented by our coast to the navigator who, unacquainted with its channels and roadsteads, should approach it in the stormy season, I dare not call it a mere piece of good fortune, that the general north and south wall of the shore of New England should be broken by this extraordinary projection of the cape, running out into the ocean a hundred miles, as if on purpose to receive and encircle the precious vessel.
As I now see her, freighted with the destinies of a continent, barely escaped from the perils of the deep, approaching the shore precisely where the broad sweep of this most remarkable headland presents almost the only point at which, for hundreds of miles, she could, with any ease, have made a harbor, and this, perhaps, the very best on the seaboard, I feel my spirit raised above the sphere of mere natural agencies.
I see the mountains of New England rising from their rocky thrones. They rush forward into the ocean, settling down as they advance; and there they range themselves, as a mighty bulwark around the heaven-directed vessel. Yes, the everlasting God himself stretches out the arm of his mercy and his power, in substantial manifestation, and gathers the meek company of his worshipers as in the hollow of his hand.
Edward Everett.
MARCH—Our Naval Cadets.
(Twelve or more boys dressed in naval costume and carrying flags.)
SINGING—TUNE: Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.
O, land of a million brave soldiers,
Who severed the bonds of despair;
O, land of a million true-hearted
Who failed not to do and to dare!
May ever thy shores gleam before us,
With harvests whose wealth shall not cease,
May ever in beauty bend o’er us,
The wings of the white dove of peace.
CHORUS.
Hail the glory of Freedom’s glad light!
Hail the passing of Slavery’s night!
Hail the triumph of Truth over Error!
Hail the glory of Freedom’s glad light!
Though hushed is the voice of the cannon
Though silent the loud battle cry,
There’s many to-day, who if needful,
For Freedom would suffer and die.
Columbia’s sons still are loyal,
Columbia’s sons still are true,
’Neath the emblem of Justice and Mercy
The banner of red, white and blue.
RECITATION—To the Ladies.
(To be prefaced with the following statement: “In the year 1768, the people of Boston resolved that they would not import any tea, glass, paper, or other commodities commonly brought from Great Britain, until the act imposing duties upon all such articles should be repealed. This poetical appeal to the ladies of the country, to lend a ‘helping hand’ for the furtherance of that resolution, appeared in the Boston News Letter, anonymously.”)
Young ladies in town, and those that live round,
Let a friend at this season advise you;
Since money’s so scarce, and times growing worse,
Strange things may soon hap and surprise you.
First, then, throw aside your topknots of pride;
Wear none but your own country linen;
Of economy boast, let your pride be the most
To show clothes of your own make and spinning.
What if homespun they say is not quite so gay
As brocades, yet be not in a passion,
For when once it is known this is much worn in town,
One and all will cry out—’Tis the fashion!
And, as one, all agree, that you’ll not married be
To such as will wear London factory,
But at first sight refuse, tell ’em such you will choose
As encourage our own manufactory.
No more ribbons wear, nor in rich silks appear;
Love your country much better than fine things;
Begin without passion, ’twill soon be the fashion
To grace your smooth locks with a twine string.
Throw aside your Bohea, and your Green Hyson tea,
And all things with a new-fashion duty;
Procure a good store of the choice Labrador,
For there’ll soon be enough here to suit you.
These do without fear, and to all you’ll appear
Fair, charming, true, lovely and clever;
Though the times remain darkish, young men may be sparkish,
And love you much stronger than ever.
Then make yourselves easy, for no one will teaze ye,
Nor tax you, if chancing to sneer
At the sense-ridden tools, who think us all fools;
But they’ll find the reverse far and near.
MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra.
TABLEAU—Conquered and Conqueror.
(A soldier dressed as a British redcoat is lying down, resting on one elbow and holding up his hand to ward off his foe. A soldier dressed in Continental uniform stands over him, pointing a bayonet at his breast.)
MUSIC—By Band or Orchestra.
