Our time has come
Do you not hear the thunder?
That is not thunder
But the roar of the guns of freedom.
Do you not hear the moan of the wind?
That is not the wind
But the lament of the wounded
Who offer up their lives in the cause of liberty.
When the snows of winÂter come
Will our troops be clothed and fed
Or will they hunger and yearn
For the warm hearth of home.
When spring follows
Will the faithÂful heed the bugle call
And march again to face the foe
And brave the sting of musÂket ball
Or will they shrink from duty
Because we sucÂcor them not?
Our desÂtiny lies with those brave souls
Though we lie in beds well made
And drink our fill and know no hunger.
We canÂnot shirk, we canÂnot hesitate.
The cries of our brothÂers echo
Across the fields of America.
The pitÂtance we provide
Is bare enough to susÂtain the fight.
Will our forÂtunes lie so content
If the batÂtle is lost?
Will our homes be safe from seizure
When our shores are breached
If we abanÂdon now the hopes
Of those in the field?
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What sacred duty can we ever make
Or one that will matÂter as much?
Act now.
Our time has come.
PATRICK HENRY – March 23, 1775. They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so forÂmiÂdaÂble an adverÂsary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totalÂly disÂarmed, and when a British guard shall be staÂtioned in every house? Shall we gathÂer strength by irresÂoÂluÂtion and inacÂtion? Shall we acquire the means of effecÂtuÂal resisÂtance by lying supineÂly on our backs and hugÂging the deluÂsive phanÂtom of hope, until our eneÂmies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a propÂer use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our powÂer. The milÂlions of peoÂple, armed in the holy cause of libÂerÂty, and in such a counÂtry as that which we posÂsess, are invinÂciÂble by any force which our eneÂmy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our batÂtles alone. There is a just God who preÂsides over the desÂtinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our batÂtles for us. The batÂtle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigÂiÂlant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no elecÂtion. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the conÂtest. There is no retreat but in subÂmisÂsion and slavÂery! Our chains are forged. Their clankÂing may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is inevitable – and let it come! I repeat, sir, let it come. It is in vain, sir, to extenÂuÂate the matÂter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace – but there is no peace. The war is actuÂalÂly begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resoundÂing arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that genÂtleÂmen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purÂchased at the price of chains and slavÂery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course othÂers may take, but as for me, give me libÂerÂty or give me death!

