Our ancestors are mere dust and ashes, save when they speak to our posterity; and then their voices resound, not from the earth below, but the heaven above.
There is an eloquence in Memory, because it is the nurse of Hope.
There is a sanctity in the Past, but only because of the chronicles it retains,--chronicles of the progress of mankind,--stepping-stones in civilisation, in liberty, and in knowledge.

Our fathers forbid us to recede,--they teach us what is our rightful heritage,--they bid us reclaim, they bid us augment, that heritage,--preserve their virtues, and avoid their errors.

These are the true uses of the Past.

Like the sacred edifice in which we are,--it is a tomb upon which to rear a temple.

I see that you marvel at this long beginning; ye look to each other--ye ask to what it tends.