Our Martyr President, Abraham Lincoln: Voices from the Pulpit of New York and Brooklyn

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Tibbals and Whiting, 1865 - 479 Seiten
 

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Seite 151 - This is essentially a people's contest. On the side of the Union it is a struggle for maintaining in the world that form and substance of Government whose leading object is to elevate the condition of men ; to lift artificial weights from all shoulders ; to clear the paths of laudable pursuit for all; to afford all an unfettered start and a fair chance in the race of life.
Seite 259 - But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive Now therefore fear ye not: I will nourish you, and your little ones.
Seite 144 - In your hands, my dissatisfied fellowcountrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The Government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the Government, while I shall have the most solemn one to "preserve, protect, and defend it.
Seite 177 - that his ways are not as our ways, nor his thoughts as our thoughts...
Seite 142 - I now wish to make the personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was wrong.
Seite 147 - But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or detract.
Seite 222 - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds ye so much dread are big with mercy, and shall break^ in blessings on your head.
Seite 175 - ... shall a trumpet be blown in the city, and the people not be afraid? shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath not done it?
Seite 11 - I have not spoken in secret, in a dark place of the earth : I said not unto the seed of Jacob, Seek ye me in vain: I the Lord speak righteousness, I declare things that are right.
Seite 84 - For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands, { On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn, While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn.

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