silence of the woods, he heard the murmur of a storm; toiling in the
forest of flashing leaf and armored oak, he heard Lexington calling unto
Sumter, Valley Forge crying unto Gettysburg, and Yorktown shouting unto
Appomattox. Lingering before the dying fires in a humble hut, he saw
with sorrowful heart the blazing camps of Virginia, and felt the awful
stillness of slumbering armies. Beneath it all he saw the strained
muscles of the slave, the broken spirit of the serf, the bondage of
immortal souls; and beyond it all, looking through the tears that broke
from a breaking heart, he saw the widow by the empty chair, the aged
father's fruitless vigil at the gate, the daughter's dreary watch
beside the door, and the son's solemn step from boyhood to old age. And
behind this picture he saw the lonely family altar upon which was
offered the incense of tears coming from millions of broken hearts; and
looking still beyond he saw the battle-fields where silent slabs told of
the death of those who died in deathless valor. He saw the desolated
earth, where golden grain no more broke from the rich, resourceful soil,
where the bannered wheat no longer rose from the productive earth; he
saw the South with its smoking chimneys, its deserted hearthstones, its
maimed and wounded trudging with bowed heads and bent forms back to
their homes, there to want and to waste and to struggle and to build up
again; he saw the North recover itself from the awful shock of arms and
start anew to unite the arteries of commerce that had been cut by the
cruel sword of war. And with this gentle hand, and as a last act of his
sacrificial life, he dashed the awful cup of brother's blood from the
lustful lip of war and shattered the cannons' roar into nameless notes
of song.

Then turn to the vision of Washington leaving a plantation of peace and
plenty to suffer on the blood-stained battle-field, surrendering the
dominion over the princely domain of a Virginia gentleman to accept the