The day is here at last

This day is called the Feast of Barack:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a-tiptoe when the day is named,

And rouse him at the name Obama.

He that shall see this day and live t’old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say "To-morrow is Obama’s Day":

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars

And say "These wounds I had on Obama’s day."

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But he’ll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words

Indiana, Ohio, Missouri,

West Virginia, Nevada and Georgia,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.

This story shall the good man teach his son;

And Obama’s Day shall ne’er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition:

And people in America now abed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Obama’s day.

Go vote. And if you have the time, volunteer.