Repost of a wonderful adaptation done by Moniker of the Penny Arcade forums.
This day is call'd — the Election Day:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Democracy.
He that outlives this day, and sees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,
And say, "To-morrow is the Election;"
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,
And say, "These wounds I had on Election 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, —
Obama the President, Plouffe, and Axelrod,
Kennedy and Pritzker, Goolsbee and Powers,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Elections shall ne'er go by
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd, —
We few, we happy few, we band of voters.
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in Washington, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks,
That fought with us upon Election day.