But how are
we ruined? Is the kind, nourishing earth about to become a cruel
step-mother? Or is the teeming soil of this magnificent country sinking
beneath our feet? Is the ocean dried up? Are our cities and villages,
our schools and churches, in ruins? Are the stout muscles which have
conquered sea and land, palsied? Are the earnings of past years
dissipated, and the skill which gathered them forgotten? I open my eyes
on this ruined country, and I see around me fields fresh with verdure,
and behold on all sides the intelligent countenance, the sinewy limb,
the kindly look, the free and manly bearing, which indicate any thing
but a fallen people. Undoubtedly we have much cause to humble ourselves
for the vices which our recent prosperity warmed into being, or rather
brought out from the depths of men's souls. But in the reprobation which
these vices awaken, have we no proof that the fountain of moral life in
the nation's heart is not exhausted. In the progress of temperance, of
education, and of religious sensibility, in our land, have we no
proof that there is among us an impulse towards improvement, which no
temporary crime or calamity can overpower.
After all, there is a growing intelligence in this community; there is
much domestic virtue, there is a deep working of Christianity; there is
going on a struggle of higher truths with narrow traditions, and of a
wider benevolence with social evils; there is a spirit of freedom, a
recognition of the equal rights of men; there are profound impulses
received from our history, from the virtues of our fathers, and
especially from our revolutionary conflict; and there is an indomitable
energy, which, after rearing an empire in the wilderness, is fresh for
new achievements.
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