The Leavenworth weekly times. [volume] (Leavenworth, Kan.) 1870-1880, 1876-06-01

I
suits Wa ch make us more and more selfish,
We exter.IIr ste the root OF national love,
and prov le for future anarchy ana 1..z,.e..
| sion.
Wien nation Chooses day TO honor her
! dead WI sne turns back the leaves with
loving hands, and marks the dawning ard
advancing light OF some hard-bought truth;
| when she pauses in the midst OF her great
career and caresses the blood-stains which
have made her grandeur, she nourishes in
all her generations the affection ior country
which is the surety OF permanence forever.
1t is like a mother, stopping in the midst of
her daily vacations to look again upon the
well-remembered pictures, charms and gar
,nents Of her dead children, and with tears
in her eyes, sits and combs the grass, and
plants the flowers, and strews them on the
silent grave. The cold marble may we'll
| mark the spot of some remembered glory,
and the inscription tell the tale OF conse-
Grated lives art may embellish cities, and
crowd them with costly memorials OF stone,
but grander than any sculPtured slab or
classic spitaph is the simple act Of a nation
when it rises up and says: hese were my
children, and loved them; | bore them,
and they died for me; my prosperity and
my honor are their legacy, and the graves
are at once my sorrow and my pride"
Still, without the heart, the outward GER
emony is more degrading than neglect The
hand bestows an empty honor which brings
It's basket OF flowers, and then returns to cut
| away the foundations of the nations integ-
| rity, 1t is treacherous act to hero which
pms the cross of the legion Of honor on his
breast, and with the other hand swing too
| the iron door that shall immune him from
the world. Words are empty buckets when
the action bellies them, and flowers and
| monuments and ribbons gay are small
things to please multitude when hands
| and hearts are dishonoriDg the nation with
the lowest deeds.
o, every day our craftsmanship and our
legislation, cringing to expediency and di-
rscted b. personal policy, swayed by preju-
| dice and nailed down TO party, tells Us that
| honor is not Of words.
Above all the honor which the ceremonial
OF day may bring, more beautiful and
more lasting than the grIve-stre IN flowers,
most gracious and most earnest of all tina.
the living can render the memory Of the
| dead, Is an honest and answering fidelity
to the broad principles which are the foun-
dation Of our civil and religious freedom
| This is not the memorial Of a day, nor the
crumbling statue of a century. 1t is the
care of every day and the heritage Of every
century. The memorial of true honor and
true love will breathe The fragrance of re-
membered nobleness upon all who bring
their offerings, and the spirit that sincere
ly drops the tear upon even the unmarked
grave, will nourish holy purpose within,
1 u-hi lsfs int, ha firm ho
beautiful and the good. Such memories a.
these, recalling the holy sacrifice Of blood,
may ennoble the whole nation, and transform
the whole life, until the whole truth may
be realized in the perfect man and be
pure society. But if there comes to us on
| ly the mere thoughtless holiday, the roses,
professions, and wordy eulogies; if We
orget the trust to which those many
graves have bonded us, and remember only
the excuse FOR show and paraphsrnalia, it
were better that the graves were forgotten
altogether, and the innocent roses strewn on
the tumbling icebergs of the polar seas.
These days ought then to be remembered
and kept, and the memorial of the great
sacrifices men have made for rs, should
never perish, and the memorial of this CEN
tennial year should be doubly dear to us,
for our patriotism ought to remind US both
OF those who gave the nation its life, and
those who willingly died that it might con-
| tinue 20 live. The history OF hundred
years is speaking TO US to-day, and the
voices of the past are calling TO us, saying
that the true memorial, the thing which
will be sweetest through all time, is the
solemn performance Of our national duty.
Ii was the duty of the hour that called the
continentals to the field, and gave birth to
the nation. 1t was the duty of the hour
that called our comrades TO the field, and
laid them in many rude and hasly tomb.
With duty for their standard, the men OF
| a hundred years ago and the men OF a
dozen years ago, dug the trenches ard laid
down in them TO die. Making it their war
cry, they deied the trained fire OF many a
battery, and stepping across the bitches OF
tine enemy, they stepped out OF the world.
Our true memorial will be the fultillment
of the duty on our hour as they did of
theirs, that duty as l conceive it, is the
building of a true union, and the creation
OF loftier national character.
To reach the greatest happiness, to find
the best life, the least pain and suffering, is
the end of national being. For this men
have fought. Tor this they have thought,
for this they have borne all miseries. This
Is the meaning that lies in the torn and
riddled standards, and is uttered in the
voiceless mounds that We decorate each
May. A nation is built upon an idea, or
it is not nation. The grander, the idea,
the mightier, the nation. 1t Is only our
one idea that can explain the unprecedent
ed growth and stretch Of power which this
natia,. The snl,u,lnoI
free.iom OF all men, and their
union to reach the highest and
attain the best, is the one great impulse
that bounds in all human hearts. To es-
ta5lish it, and to give i, entire sway, or
forefathers suffered and died, and our
comrades gave themselves freely. And our
duty in this direction is Just as arduous,
just as exacting to-day. Each passing
year, opening still further ont the arms OF
our power, bringing US new conquesis OF
thought and action, unfolding mightier in
dustries: developing proiounder thoughts;
tells Us that what is possible to man, is pos
sible to the children of this land. Not one
OF US can compass it. We cannot tell what
WAYS have been opened through those
many thousand graves for the full fruition
of manhood. We have made the way for
all things. We have opened the door to
the world. But Woe to him, says the Tai
mud, who builds big door, and has no
house behind it.
Whenever We stand by the silent graves,
whenever we weave the garlands of love,
and scatter the flowers, we can speak no
holier thought than this of Whittier:
so, love, so hallowing every soil,
That gave thy sweet flower room,
Wherever, nursed by ease or toll
The human heart takes bloom.
Plant of lost Eden, from the sod
Oi sinful earth un iyen,
White blossoms from the trees Of god
dropped down to ms from Heaven.
These tangled wastes Of mound and stone
Are holy for thy sake
J sweetness which is all thy own,
Breathes out from fern and brake
Mr.. Sanborn,s speech was followed by
"Sherman's March to the Sea-" BY the
band, after which Lieut.. J. W. Pope ad-
dressed the aasemblage in the following
we'll chosen words:
FELLowcIHzENs, LADIES AND GENTLE
NES: rise to-day to utter few serious
words over the hallowed graves of our
country's dead. l will not add to
my termerity in appearing before you by
even attempting to bespeak a fit
eulogy. Far loftier minds, far reader pens,
far more eloquent lips and silvery tongues
have taken that theme out of my mouth,
and affixed it TO the grand gallery of glory,
in colors that never can fade, and yet more
illustrious intelIecss will ring those silver
tones in the future. Not mine is the proud
ambition to do justice to the patriotism,
the heroism, the fortitude, the perseverance, |
and the sufferinRs that nov lie bnried h. |