(Chorus of Watchmen) Wherefore art thou red In thine apparel, And thy garments Like him that treadeth in the wine fat? (He who cometh) I have trodden the winepress alone; And of the peoples there was no man with me: And trampled them in my fury; And their life blood is sprinkled upon my garments, For the day of vengeance was in mine heart, And the year of my redeemed is come. And I looked and there was none to help; And I wondered that there was none to uphold: And I trod down the peoples in mine anger, And I poured their life-blood on the earth. GENERAL WILLIAM BOOTH ENTERS HEAVEN VACHEL LINDSAY (Drums) Booth led boldly with his big bass drum (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) The saints smiled gravely, and they said, "He's come," Walking lepers followed, rank on rank, Lurching bravoes from the ditches dank, Drabs from the alley ways and drug-fiends pale- Vermin-eaten saints with mouldy breath Unwashed legions from the ways of death- (Banjos) Every slum had sent its half-a-score The round world over-Booth had groaned for more. Bloomed with glory and transcendent dyes. Hallelujah! It was queer to see Bull-necked convicts with that land make free! Loons with trumpets that blowed a blare, blare, blare- (Bass drums slower and softer) Booth died blind, and still by faith he trod, Eyes still dazzled by the ways of God. Booth led boldly and he looked the chief: Jesus came out from the Court-House door, (Flutes) Booth saw not, but led his queer ones there Marched on spotless, clad in raiment new. The lame were straightened, withered limbs uncurled (Bass drums louder and faster) Drabs and vixens in a flash made whole! Gone was the weasel-head, the snout, the jowl; Sages and sibyls now, and athletes clean, (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) (Grand chorus of all instruments-Tambourines in the foreground) The hosts were sandalled and the wings were fire! (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) And their noise played havoc with the angel choir. (Reverently sung; no instruments) And when Booth halted by the curb for prayer For Booth the soldier, while the throng knelt down. THE LAND O' THE LEAL LADY NAIRNE I'm wearin' awa', John, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, John, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, John, She was baith gude and fair, John, And oh we grudged her sair To the land o' the leal! But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, In the land o' the leal. Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, Oh! dry your glistening ee, John, To the land o' the leal. Oh! haud ye leal and true, John, To the land o' the leal. In the land o' the leal. MY PILGRIMAGE SIR WALTER RALEIGH Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; Blood must be my body's balmer; Travelleth toward the land of heaven, Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar fountains. The bowl of bliss; And drink mine everlasting fill My soul will be a-dry before; Then by that happy blissful day To quench their thirst And taste of nectar's suckets, Where sweetness dwells, Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. And when our bottles and all we Then by the blest paths we'll travel, From thence to heaven's bribeless hall, No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, And when the grand twelve million jury |