In my native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its
central hill--a plain, white shaft. Deep cut into its shining side is a
name dear to me above the names of men--that of a brave and simple man
who died in brave and simple faith. Not for all the glories of New
England, from Plymouth Rock all the way, would I exchange the heritage
he left me in his soldier's death. To the foot of that shaft I shall
send my children's children to reverence him who ennobled their name
with his heroic blood. But, sir, speaking from the shadow of that
memory, which I honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say that the
cause in which he suffered and for which he gave his life was adjudged
by higher and fuller wisdom than his or mine, and I am glad that the
omniscient God held the balance of battle in His Almighty hand and that
human slavery was swept forever from American soil, and the American
Union was saved from the wreck of war.
This message, Mr. President, comes to you from consecrated ground. Every
foot of soil about the city in which I live is as sacred as a
battle-ground of the republic.
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