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Show 1776 AND AFTER No accident this citadel of freedom, this fortress of the free, this strong expanding land, Land born of labor, of struggle, of ancestral blood. Sufferance that carved a tower, a human foundation that continues to stand, A pillar was made which joins all flesh. Pain of those initial years has opened up earth, ocean, and sky, Three lengthless shores that invite man's step. Two hundred years later man takes those strides, he advances, He looks forward, not without pausing, to look behind, to cast one long glance. That rope of sand, the colonies, turns to stone, To meet opposing troops and guns and bondage forced. Pounding of the anvil, making of one gun or sword, Rhythmically joined to the child's song, as he drills, carrying one stick. Farmers' march, voluntary, collective zeal, Its roar fills the streets, grows louder, and finally explodes. Sacrificial offering of wood, brick, and paternal flesh, All perish so that autonomy might eternally live. Unnamed saviors live on in Revere, Washington, and Paine, Their three shoulders bend with the weighted glory, honor, and valor of thousands of men. Revere's ride carries not one man's cry, but many, His horse's flanks must yield to the pain of a nation's thrust. Red-stained snow marks Valley Forge, the lack of food, the lack of sleep, |