McIvor came to the girl as she sat, stupefied, at the back of the stage. “Once more, child. It’s the six million sure now, and we’ll get some over,” he said. “I’ve just heard about your bonds, your money—how you offered up your career for your country. And—and—” Honor, flushing, half angry at Eric who had told family secrets, forgave her brother because of that catch in McIvor’s words, and because she knew that it was not the sore throat which choked him then. “Ye’re goin’ to hae an education and a future—ye’re goin’ to learn to sing as no American ever sang before. Ye do now,” stated McIvor recklessly. “Put that thought in your pipe, and now get up, bairn, and gie ’em ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic,’ while they’re signing away their souls. Sing it as if ye were singing the Germans out of New York harbor—as if ye were singing glory to your country and eternal peace into the universe.”
With a spring she was on her feet and standing close at the edge of the platform. The orchestra, at a word, played the notes that were needed:
“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”
The magnificent words with their rhythm of marching armies rolled out in the fresh, tremendous tones with the new-born soul in them, with a throb in them not to be described. The voice gathered the overwrought people into one person—one person who signed pledges as they came, and rejoiced to sacrifice and to renounce for the dear country, the beloved country—great America.
“In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea—
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me.
Since He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
For his truth goes marching on.”
And in the depths of each human being in the great square, each one knew, as we all know, that through dangers and sufferings that may be coming, America is safe—humanity is safe with America. Not sorrow or poverty or death is too high a price for American men and women to pay to safeguard liberty, and the truth indeed is marching on.