Lowery and Alexander Deliver for Obama

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle. Praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign, the figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "love thy neighbor as thyself"; others by "first, do no harm" or "take no more than you need." What if the mightiest word is "love" -- love beyond marital, filial, national; love that casts a widening pool of light; love with no need to preempt grievance?

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun. On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp, praise song for walking forward in that light.

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