We needed not that he should put on paper that he believed in slavery, who, with treason, with murder, with cruelty infernal, hovered around that majestic man to destroy his life.  He was himself but the long sting with which slavery struck at liberty; and he carried the poison that belonged to slavery.  As long as this nation lasts, it will never be forgotten that we have one martyred President—­never!  Never, while time lasts, while heaven lasts, while hell rocks and groans, will it be forgotten that slavery, by its minions, slew him, and in slaying him made manifest its whole nature and tendency.

But another thing for us to remember is that this blow was aimed at the life of the government and of the nation.  Lincoln was slain; America was meant.  The man was cast down; the government was smitten at.  It was the President who was killed.  It was national life, breathing freedom and meaning beneficence, that was sought.  He, the man of Illinois, the private man, divested of robes and the insignia of authority, representing nothing but his personal self, might have been hated; but that would not have called forth the murderer’s blow.  It was because he stood in the place of government, representing government and a government that represented right and liberty, that he was singled out.

This, then, is a crime against universal government.  It is not a blow at the foundations of our government, more than at the foundations of the English government, of the French government, of every compact and well-organized government.  It was a crime against mankind.  The whole world will repudiate and stigmatize it as a deed without a shade of redeeming light....

The blow, however, has signally failed.  The cause is not stricken; it is strengthened.  This nation has dissolved,—­but in tears only.  It stands, four-square, more solid, to-day, than any pyramid in Egypt.  This people are neither wasted, nor daunted, nor disordered.  Men hate slavery and love liberty with stronger hate and love to-day than ever before.  The Government is not weakened, it is made stronger....

And now the martyr is moving in triumphal march, mightier than when alive.  The nation rises up at every stage of his coming.  Cities and states are his pall-bearers, and the cannon beats the hours with solemn progression.  Dead—­dead—­dead—­he yet speaketh!  Is Washington dead?  Is Hampden dead?  Is David dead?  Is any man dead that ever was fit to live?  Disenthralled of flesh, and risen to the unobstructed sphere where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work.  His life now is grafted upon the Infinite, and will be fruitful as no earthly life can be.  Pass on, thou that hast overcome!  Your sorrows O people, are his peace!  Your bells, and bands, and muffled drums sound triumph in his ear.  Wail and weep here; God makes it echo joy and triumph there.  Pass on, victor!