Or as Abraham Lincoln once put it:
The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.
We can’t let this republic die, murdered by a tyrant. We just can’t.
Illustration by N. C. Wyeth.
Click on the image to enlarge.