Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
It is to deny, what the history of the world tells us is true, to suppose that men of ambition and talents will not continue to spring up amongst us. And, when they do, they will as naturally seek the gratification of their ruling passion, as others have so done before them. The question then, is, can that gratification be found in supporting and maintaining an edifice that has been erected by others? Most certainly it cannot. Many great and good men sufficiently qualified for any task they should undertake, may ever be found, whose ambition would inspire to nothing beyond a seat in Congress, a gubernatorial or a presidential chair; ''but such belong not to the family of the lion, or the tribe of the eagle.'' What! think you these places would satisfy an Alexander, a Caesar, or a Napoleon? — Never! Towering genius disdains a beaten path. It seeks regions hitherto unexplored. — It sees ''no distinction'' in adding story to story, upon the monuments of fame, erected to the memory of others. It ''denies'' that it is glory enough to serve under any chief. It ''scorns'' to tread in the footsteps of ''any'' predecessor, however illustrious. It thirsts and burns for distinction; and, if possible, it will have it, whether at the expense of emancipating slaves, or enslaving freemen. Is it unreasonable then to expect, that some man possessed of the loftiest genius, coupled with ambition sufficient to push it to its utmost stretch, will at some time, spring up among us? And when such a one does, it will require the people to be united with each other, attached to the government and laws, and generally intelligent, to successfully frustrate his designs.
Abraham Lincoln
I mean the powerful influence which the interesting scenes of the Revolution had upon the passions of the people as distinguished from their judgment. By this influence, the jealousy, envy, and avarice incident to our nature and so common to a state of peace, prosperity, and conscious strength, were for the time in a great measure smothered and rendered inactive, while the deep-rooted principles of hate, and the powerful motive of revenge, instead of being turned against each other, were directed exclusively against the British nation. And thus, from the force of circumstances, the basest principles of our nature, were either made to lie dormant, or to become the active agents in the advancement of the noblest cause — that of establishing and maintaining civil and religious liberty. But this state of feeling ''must fade, is fading, has faded'', with the circumstances that produced it. I do not mean to say that the scenes of the Revolution are now or ever will be entirely forgotten, but that, like everything else, they must fade upon the memory of the world, and grow more and more dim by the lapse of time. In history, we hope, they will be read of, and recounted, so long as the Bible shall be read; but even granting that they will, their influence cannot be what it heretofore has been. Even then they cannot be so universally known nor so vividly felt as they were by the generation just gone to rest. At the close of that struggle, nearly every adult male had been a participator in some of its scenes. The consequence was that of those scenes, in the form of a husband, a father, a son, or a brother, a living history was to be found in every family—a history bearing the indubitable testimonies of its own authenticity, in the limbs mangled, in the scars of wounds received, in the midst of the very scenes related—a history, too, that could be read and understood alike by all, the wise and the ignorant, the learned and the unlearned. But those histories are gone. They can be read no more forever. They were a fortress of strength; but what invading foeman could never do, the silent artillery of time has done—the leveling of its walls. They are gone. They were a forest of giant oaks; but the all-restless hurricane has swept over them, and left only here and there a lonely trunk, despoiled of its verdure, shorn of its foliage, unshading and unshaded, to murmur in a few more gentle breezes, and to combat with its mutilated limbs a few more ruder storms, then to sink and be no more. They were pillars of the temple of liberty; and now that they have crumbled away that temple must fall unless we, their descendants, supply their places with other pillars, hewn from the solid quarry of sober reason.
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
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