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ish are withdrawing their forces. For then, and for now, and for all time, come the words of the anthem—
“O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
The Star-Spangled Banner! Was ever flag so beautiful, did ever flag so fill the souls of men? The love of woman; the sense of duty; the thirst for glory; the heartthrobbing that impels the humblest American to stand by his colors fearless in the defense of his native soil and holding it sweet to die for it—the yearning which draws him to it when exiled from it—its free institutions and its blessed memories, all are embodied and symbolized by the broad stripes and bright stars of the nation's emblem, all live again in the lines and tones of Key's anthem. Two or three began the song, millions join the chorus. They are singing it in Porto Rican trenches and on the ramparts of Santiago, and its echoes, borne upon the wings of morning, come rolling back from far-away Manila; the soldier's message to the soldier; the hero's shibboleth in battle; the patriot's solace in death ! Even to the lazy sons of peace who lag at home—the pleasure-seekers whose merry-making turns the night into day—those stirring strains come as a sudden trumpet-call, and above the sounds of revelry, subjugate for the moment to a stronger power, rises wave upon wave of melodious resonance, the idler's aimless but heartfelt tribute to his country and his country's flag.
Since the “Star-Spangled Banner” was written nearly a century has come and gone. The drums, and tramplings of more than half its years have passed over the grave of Francis Scott Key. Here at last he rests forever. Here at last his tomb is fitly made. When his eyes closed upon the scenes of this life their last gaze beheld the ensign
of the Republic “full-high advanced, its arms and trophies
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not a singer of the fireside, but a heartless wanderer, who put in all hearts the Anglo-Saxon's simple “Home, Sweet Home.” It was a poet, not a warrior, who gave to our Union the Anglo-American's homage to his flag. Even as the Prince of Peace who came to bring eternal life was the Son of God, were these His ministering angels; and, as each of us, upon his knees, sends up a prayer to Heaven for “Home, Sweet Home,” may he also murmur, and teach his children to lisp, the sublime refrain of Key's immortal anthem—
“'Tis the Star-Spangled Banner, O, long may it wave
AMERICAN GOVERNMENT UNIQUE
[Oration by Daniel Webster, statesman and orator (born in Salisbury, N. H., January 18, 1782; died in Marshfield, Mass., October 24, 1852), delivered in Fryeburg, Maine, July 4, 1802, when Webster was but twenty years of age, and at the time principal of the Fryeburg Academy. This oration is referred to in Webster's Autobiography as unpublished, and so it remained till eighty years after its delivery, when the original manuscript was found, with a mass of Webster's private papers, in a junk-shop in Boston, and rescued from destruction. Passing then into appreciative hands, it was issued in pamphlet form in 1882, the centennial year of Webster's birth. The impression created by this early effort of the orator upon the minds of the townspeople who heard it, was deep and lasting, and it has been said that its sentiments were remembered and repeated by some of them after a lapse of more than fifty years. An interesting fact is seen in the strikingly similar peroration to the last speech made by Webster in the Senate of the United States on July 17, 1850.]
FELLOW CITIZENS:—It is at the season when nature hath assumed her loveliest apparel that the American people assemble in their several temples to celebrate the birthday of their nation. Arrayed in all the beauties of the year, the Fourth of July once more visits us. Green fields and a ripening harvest proclaim it, a bright sun cheers it, and the hearts of freemen bid it welcome. Illustrious spectacle! Six millions of people this day surround their altars, and unite in an address to Heaven for the preservation of their rights. Every rank and every age imbibes the general spirit. | From the lisping inhabitant of the cradle to the aged warrior whose gray hairs are fast sinking in the western horizon of life, every voice is,
Copyright, by C. W. Lewis. Published by permission. 1152
this day, : to the accents of Liberty! Washington |
sent such a view of your Constitution and your Union, 2. . . . .
as shall convince you that you have nothing to hope from U.
a change. )
experiments. Innovation is the idol of the times. The
human mind seems to have burst its ancient limits, and to
be traveling over the face of the material and intellectual
creation in search of improvement. (The world hath be- .