ot esteem it a happiness and a glory to belong to this Old Guard,
who from age to age have rallied and rallied and rallied to the support
of liberty, to the rescue of this holy sepulchre from the hands of
desolators and barbarians, who have ever fought where the fight was
thickest, have ever been the advance-guard of the world in its onward
progress, and been enshrined in the great heart of the world, there to
glow like the stars forever and ever? Is it a hardship to die that one
may live forever? Is it a hardship to die that millions who now live in
wailing and woe, in chains and degradation, may live in happiness and
freedom in all time to come? The voice of the great army of American
freemen rolls back the answer, like the majestic anthem of the sea, No!
a deep, continuous no, which echoes from the broad Atlantic to the
sunset-dyed Pacific, from the summits of Nevada to the great lakes of
the North. Yes, I tell you the whole people feel the depth and
sacredness of this war; they feel it to be, as Carlyle said of the
French Revolution, 'truth, though a truth clad in hell-fire.'

Then forward, noble army of the brave and true! Rally and forward, and
forward again, until every Malakoff of Wrong is reduced, and every
suffering Lucknow of our country hears the slogan of deliverance. You
have glorious successes to cheer you now. You can think of Somerset and
Donelson, and all the glorious battles of the war--of forts taken, of
enemies driven, of towns evacuated, of the great cities of the enemy in
our hands, of all the stirring, glorious successes of our army and our
flag--and even had you none of these to think of, you could think of our
cause, and this would be enough. Then let the bugles sound, the trumpets
clang, the drums beat, the cannons roar, and we will march, and rally,
and forward, and charge and charge and charge, until victory or death
crown our labors; and if death to us, so let it be--it will be victory
to our successors. This is the spirit of our Northern army. Sing
plaudits to it, ye sons of song. Let your eloquence be inspired by it,
ye golden-mouthed men--ye Everetts and Sumners. Write of them, ye gifted
who would live in the coming time. Weave garlands for them, ye
white-handed and lily-browed. Write anthems and oratorios for them, ye
men of music. Pray for them, each and all of you, night and day, with
heart and voice. But we can not, if we would, overlook the desolation
which the war has brought and mu