the beams of red light that beautify the morning, have been united upon its folds.  As long as the sun endures, or the stars, may it wave over a nation neither enslaved nor enslaving!  Once, and but once, has treason dishonored it.  In that insane hour when the guiltiest and bloodiest rebellion of all time hurled their fires upon this fort, you, sir [turning to General Anderson], and a small, heroic band, stood within these now crumbled walls, and did gallant and just battle for the honor and defense of the nation’s banner.  In that cope of fire, that glorious flag still peacefully waved to the breeze above your head unconscious of harm as the stars and skies above it.  Once it was shot down.  A gallant hand, in whose care this day it has been, plucked it from the ground, and reared it again—­“cast down, but not destroyed.”  After a vain resistance, with trembling hand and sad heart, you withdrew it from its height, closed its wings, and bore it far away, sternly to sleep amid the tumults of rebellion, and the thunder of battle.  The first act of war had begun.  The long night of four years had set in.  While the giddy traitors whirled in a maze of exhilaration, dim horrors were already advancing, that were ere long to fill the land with blood.  To-day you are returned again.  We devoutly join with you in thanksgiving to Almighty God that he has spared your honored life, and vouchsafed to you the glory of this day.  The heavens over you are the same, the same shores are here, morning comes, and evening, as they did.  All else, how changed!  What grim batteries crowd the burdened shores!  What scenes have filled this air, and disturbed these waters!  These shattered heaps of shapeless stone are all that is left of Fort Sumter.  Desolation broods in yonder city—­solemn retribution hath avenged our dishonored banner!  You have come back with honor, who departed hence four years ago, leaving the air sultry with fanaticism.  The surging crowds that rolled up their frenzied shouts as the flag came down, are dead, or scattered, or silent, and their habitations are desolate.  Ruin sits in the cradle of treason.  Rebellion has perished.  But there flies the same flag that was insulted.  With starry eyes it looks over this bay for the banner that supplanted it, and sees it not.  You that then, for the day, were humbled, are here again, to triumph once and forever.  In the storm of that assault this glorious ensign was often struck; but, memorable fact, not one of its stars was torn out by shot or shell.  It was a prophecy.  It said:  “Not a State shall be struck from this nation by treason!” The fulfillment is at hand.  Lifted to the air to-day, it proclaims that after four years of war, “Not a State is blotted out.”  Hail to the flag of our fathers, and our flag!  Glory to the banner that has gone through four years black with tempests of war, to pilot the nation back to peace without dismemberment!  And glory be to God, who, above all hosts and banners, hath ordained victory,