We know that only ignorance and superstition seek to explain events by
fate and destiny, yet there is a fascination in such speculations born,
perhaps, of human frailty. How happens it that James Otis laid out in
1762 the then almost treasonable proposition that "Kings were made for
the good of the people, and not the people for them," in a pamphlet
which was circulated among the Colonists? What school had taught Patrick
Henry that national outlook which he expressed in the opening debates of
the first Continental Congress when he said, "I am not a Virginian, but
an American," and which hurried him on to the later cry of "Liberty or
death?" How was it that the filling of a vacancy sent Thomas Jefferson
to the second Continental Congress, there to pen the immortal
Declaration we this day celebrate? No other living man could have
excelled him in preparation for, or in the execution of, that great
task. What circumstance put the young George Washington under the
military instruction of a former army officer, and then gave him years
of training to lead the Continental forces? What settled Ethan Allen in
the wilderness of the Green Mountains ready to strike Ticonderoga?
Whence came that power to draft state papers, in a new and unlettered
land, which compelled the admiration of the cultured Earl of Chatham?
What lengthened out the days of Benjamin Franklin that he might
negotiate the Treaty of Paris? What influence sent the miraculous voice
of Daniel Webster from the outlying settlements of New Hampshire to
rouse the land with his appeal for Liberty and Union? And finally who
raised up Lincoln, to lead, to inspire, and to die, that the opening
assertion of the Declaration might stand at last fulfilled?

These thoughts are overpowering. But let us beware of fate and destiny.
Barbarians have decreased, but barbarism still exists. Rome boasted the
name of the Eternal City. It was but eight hundred years from the sack