(Full Choir crescendo.)
That these United States are and of right ought to be free and independent states....
[The army is assembled and cheers its chief with three mighty huzzas which are part of a triumphant burst of melody. Washington stands immobile and Freedom, likewise, above and behind him. The music dies into mourning. The light dies except upon Washington and the central and most ragged group which, in varied attitudes of weariness, sinks to the ground about him. The light is dismal.]
The Chronicler
(Rising and speaking to the audience.)
The soul of an event is the vision which God sets before its hero; its life hangs upon the faith men bring to it. The heroes of God’s choosing make Him manifest to man; but the faith of man is a wretched thing. Now this event fares mournfully, for the army of revolt is more cruelly driven by the doubts and jealousies of man than by the winds and snows of winter, and the meaning of Freedom is forgotten in the fact of hardship. Within himself and his great enterprise the chieftain stands steadfast, concerned only with the omen and the pity of the time.
[Men’s voices sing again, weakly. The song is the hymn of Washington’s soldiers which they sang about the campfires of Valley Forge. The soldiers move about, warming their bodies wretchedly at imaginary campfires.]
Chorus
Lessons of war from him we take
And manly weapons learn to wield;
Strong bows of steel with ease we break,
Forced by our stronger arms to yield.
’Tis God that still supports our right,
His just revenge our foes pursues;
’Tis He, that, with resistless might,
Fierce nations to His power subdues.
[Washington, as the chorus dies, moves at last and begins to speak, and his men crouch about his feet as in the dim light of campfires.]