ut there flies the same flag
that was insulted. With starry eyes it looks over this bay for the
banner that supplanted it, and sees it not. You that then, for the
day, were humbled, are here again, to triumph once and forever. In
the storm of that assault this glorious ensign was often struck;
but, memorable fact, not one of its stars was torn out by shot or
shell. It was a prophecy. It said: "Not a State shall be struck
from this nation by treason!" The fulfillment is at hand. Lifted
to the air to-day, it proclaims that after four years of war, "Not a
State is blotted out." Hail to the flag of our fathers, and our
flag! Glory to the banner that has gone through four years black
with tempests of war, to pilot the nation back to peace without
dismemberment! And glory be to God, who, above all hosts and
banners, hath ordained victory, and shall ordain peace. Wherefore
have we come hither, pilgrims from distant places? Are we come to
exult that Northern hands are stronger than Southern? No; but to
rejoice that the hands of those who defend a just and beneficent
government are mightier than the hands that assaulted it. Do we
exult over fallen cities? We exult that a nation has not fallen.
We sorrow with the sorrowful. We sympathize with the desolate. We
look upon this shattered fort and yonder dilapidated city with sad
eyes, grieved that men should have committed such treason, and glad
that God hath set such a mark upon treason that all ages shall dread
and abhor it. We exult, not for a passion gratified, but for a
sentiment victorious; not for temper, but for conscience; not, as we
devoutly believe, that our will is done, but that God's will hath
been done. We should be unworthy of that liberty intrusted to our
care, if, on such a day as this, we sullied our hearts by feelings
of aimless vengeance; and equally unworthy if we did not devoutly
thank him who hath said: "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the
Lord," that he hath set a mark upon arrogant rebellion, ineffaceable
while time lasts.

Since this flag went down on that dark day, who shall tell the
mighty woes that have made this land a spectacle to angels and men?
The soil has drunk blood and is glutted. Millions mourn for myriads
slain, or, envying the dead, pray for oblivion. Towns and villages
have been razed. Fruitful fields have been turned back to
wilderness. It came to pass, as the prophet said: "The sun was
turned to darkness and