DAY   FOR  DECISION

Narrative:
The other day I heard someone say, "You know, America is in real trouble."
It's true.  Old Glory has never fallen so close to the earth.  Our embassies are being 
stoned.  Our diplomats are often in fear for their lives.  And we're involved in a half-
dozen nameless, winless conflicts spilling American blood on foreign soil.  Our young 
men and women are dying for ideals that don't seem to mean too much to Americans 
anymore.

The truth is America's real trouble doesn't lie in the rice paddies of Vietnam, 
in the masses of Red China, or in the diabolical intrigues to the south of us. 
The real trouble lies in the playgrounds of St. Louis, the hillside mansions of San 
Francisco, and in the slums of Chicago.  A disease which is slowly eating away at 
the heart of America lives in the small southern towns, the fishing villages of
New England, and in the hot dusty streets of the midwest. 

This is the age of the American cynic.  The year of the unbeliever.  The day of doubt.
We've killed all the sacred cows and destroyed all the images.  And there's nothing 
left to respect.  Old fashioned love of God, country, and family is passe.  We stare 
at our shoelaces when they play the national anthem.  We wouldn't want to be seen 
at a political rally or a town hall meeting.  And we don't want to be caught with our 
eyes closed during public prayers.  We've decided the only way to get into public 
office is to buy it.  Our heroes are the fast guys who get away with things.  Patriotism, 
the old hand-over-the-heart, flag-waving singing patriotism has been condemned.
Think about this.  Patriotism.  When you tear away the fancy phrases and crepe paper,
it's plain and simple pride.  It's a new car-prettier girl-bigger house sort of pride in 
country.  Somewhere along the way we've lost it.  Our form of government is the same. 
We still say America stands for the same things.  But next time you're at a party, ask 
someone to sing "America the Beautiful" and see what happens. 

The basic ideals and structure of America haven't changed.  We have.  You and me.  
Our enemies know it.  They've seen the newsreels of the discontented marching 
around the capitol.  They've distorted and blown up our mistakes.  They've been 
putting steel wedges in the cracks in our wall of solidarity.  The new idea is: Don't 
attack America; wear it down gradually; it'll eventually fall under the weight of its 
own corruption.  And did you know, it's working?

This sneering complacency, once stamped out by the bloody feet of a tattered Continental 
Army in 1776, once drowned beneath the keel of the U.S.S. Arizona in Pearl Harbor Bay,
has risen again.  This deadly "Let George do it" attitude lights the way for the Viet Cong
in the swampy jungles of Vietnam.  This "Better red than dead" cancer is more feared 
by the American soldier than all the communist mortar shells.  It kills the vitality and 
spirit of America.  Democracy is a frail and fragile instrument.  Made of hope, prayer, and 
Yankee ingenuity.  It is held together by a fourth-of-July flag-waving patriotism.  And we've
almost exhausted our supply of it.  Try this test.  Lift your eyes to a flag, then sign out as 
loud as you can that old out-worn and antiquated freedom hymn you learned so many 
years ago:

For purple mountain majesties   [for purple mountain majesties]
Above the fruited plain   [above the fruited plain]
America   [America]
America   [America]
God shed His grace on thee  [God shed His grace on thee]

Now if you feel a little pride welling up inside of you, if you feel a little mist in your eye, 
then, thank God for you, mister, you're still an American!

[America, America,
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shing sea]