I desire to
thank God that since he has given me an intellect so fallible, he has
impressed upon me an instinct that is sure. On a question of shame and
honor, reasoning is sometimes useless, and worse. I feel the decision in
my pulse; if it throws no light upon the brain, it kindles a fire at the
heart.
What is patriotism? Is it a narrow affection for the spot where a man
was born? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent
preference, because they are greener? No, sir, this is not the character
of the virtue, and it soars higher for its object. It is an extended
self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself
with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws of
society, because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we
see not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our
country's honor. Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and
cherishes it not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing to risk
his life in its defence; and is conscious that he gains protection,
while he gives it. For what rights of a citizen will be deemed
inviolable, when a state renounces the principles that constitute
their security? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what would
its enjoyments be in a country odious in the eyes of strangers, and
dishonored in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to
such a country as his parent? The sense of having one would die within
him; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any, and justly.
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