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ure” again, but again the wave rolls on with increased and tremendous momentum. And so they see the fearful game sway to and fro, disaster set at defiance with grim stubborness, victory wrung from the grasp of an unwilling fortune, until at last the Mississippi is ours, until the Atlantic coast is fringed with our conquests, until the glorious Farragut (great cheering) has battered down the forts of Mobile and swept the Southern waters, until the restless Sherman has dug his bloody way into the heart of Georgia, (continued cheering,) and until the indomitable Grant, whose unbending mind, insensible to disaster, is doggedly clinging to the heels of victory, has laid his iron hand upon the ramparts of Richmond. (Tremendous applause.) And old Europe asks: Are they not tired yet? See here, old Europe; this is the fourth year of the war. All rebeldom is swept clean by a merciless conscription. The President of the United States calls again for half a million of men, and from all hills and valleys resounds the old song, “We are coming, we are coming!” and over five thousand men a day volunteer for the bloody work of achieving their country’s destiny. (Great applause.)

Europe does not understand this inexhaustible perseverance, this bull-dog tenacity. Europe does not know the American. She looks upon him as a cold, dry, matter-of-fact creature, whose soul is filled to its full capacity with business calculations and the mean cares of everyday life. Europe is mistaken. There is a profound idealism in the soul of the American, which breaks forth in its full force only on great occasions. The American believes in the great destiny of his country, believes in it with that unconquerable, immovable, religious, fanatic faith, to which the greatness of the difficulties to be overcome appears as nothing compared with the greatness of the object to be achieved. This faith lives not only in the head of the man of though and far-seeing speculation; it hovers over the plough of the farmer, over the anvil of the mechanic, over the desk of the merchant; it is the very milk with which the American mother nourishes her baby. This faith has put our armies into the field and set our navy afloat: as in France, every soldier is said to carry the marshal’s batôn in his knapsack, so in America the smallest cabin-lad of the fleet, the meanest drummer-boy in the field, carries in his soul the great ideal of his country’s destiny. (Great cheering.) This faith knows no failure, and if it be staggered a moment by the blow of unexpected misfortune, it bounds up again the next moment with a wonderful recuperative power. No, this faith knows no failure; for it, no sacrifice is too great, before its onset impossibility yields its stubbornness. The rebellion itself could not shake it; no, by the rebellion it has gained in intensity. The rebellion has suddenly lifted this nation from her childhood. Having gone through struggles, the tremendous shocks of which not many states would have been able to endure, this nation now stands there with the inspiring consciousness of mature strength. She did not know before how strong she was, but now she knows; and whatever trials may be in store for her, fear and weakness will have no seat at her council-board. And with proud confidence she looks forward to the day, when the united power of North and South will rally again under the common banner of liberty, and when it will be a question of first interest to foreign powers, how far, during this war, they have provoked the resentment of the American people. (Tremendous cheering.) Meanwhile, guided by her great faith as by a column of fire by night and a column of cloud by day, the nation marches forth to do or die for the grand republican empire of the future.

And this great republican empire of the future is no idle dream, no mere empty hallucination of a heated brain. The stupendous prospect is opened by potent fact and the demonstrations of reason. This republic cannot but be great, if it is one; but there can be nothing but strife, weakness, and decay, if it be divided. The questions of peace, empire, national existence, liberty, prosperity, civilization—all these questions are one and inseparable. In the very nature of things, this republic must be great or it must die. There is no alternative. The great republican empire is there, it is within your grasp, if you only remain true to the idea.

And now hear me, Americans of to-day, and mark my words: In the peace which you are now struggling for, you will lay the foundation of this future greatness, or you will lay in it the seeds of decay, disease, and death. Whatever you may have achieved, you have done nothing if you will not do more. (Great applause.) This is the turning-point of your development; this is the moment of the final decision; this is the great opportunity. Take care how you use it. It will never, never come back. Woe to the statesman who now conceives a plan or cherishes a sympathy, that is not in accordance with this great development. Woe to the party, that now tries to lure the people from the glorious path. Woe to the people if at this solemn moment they mistake their duty to themselves and to future generations. It is with her life that the nation would have to pay for the fatal error. (Loud applause.)

Not to the rebels will I appeal. The slave lords, fighting for institutions which are condemned by the unanimous voice of enlightened humanity, have set their hearts upon reviving what is dead, and the voice of reason and argument cannot pierce their fatal infatuation; and their retinue follows them like a flock of sheep. Let them fulfill the destiny they have made for themselves. Let the dead bury their dead. (Applause.)

Nor will I appeal to those degenerate sons of the North who have openly allied themselves with the enemies of their country; who rejoice over her disasters and grieve over her victories. They present one of those singular examples of human depravity, which must be seen in order to be believed. That a son should mock a benignant mother, when she is weeping tears of agony and distress, that her smile of pride and happiness should make him sad, that can hardly be explained upon any psychological theory. It shows a depth of moral perversity so deep and dark, that the ordinary understanding cannot sound it, and that even the creative power