The Nation's Woe
T. DeWitt Talmage
Isa., 40: 1: " Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God."
This reiterated command to the ministers of re- ligion centuries ago is just as appropriate this terrible morning, while we are awaiting tidings from the suf- fering couch of our chief magistrate.
"The President shot!" was sounded through the rail-train as we halted a few moments on the morn- ing of July 2d, at Williamstown, Mass., the place at which the President was expected in three days. "Absurd and impossible," I said. I asked then, as I ask you now, Why should any one want to kill him? He had nothing but that which he had earned with his own brain and hand. He had fought his own way up from country home to college hall, and from college hall to the House of Representatives, and from House of Representatives to the Senate Chamber, and from the Senate Chamber to the Presidential chair. Why should any one want to kill him? He was not a despot who had been treading on the rights of the people. There was nothing of the Nero or the Robes- pierre in him. He had wronged no man. He was free and happy himself and wanted all the world free and happy. Why should any one want to kill him? He had a family to shepherd and educate, a noble wife and a group of little children leaning on his arm, and holding his hand, and who needed him for many years to come. If any one must shoot him, why shoot him then, just as after with indescribable perplexity and fatigue, he had launched his administration and was off for a few days of recreation which he had so dearly earned? How any man could take steady aim at such a good, kind, sympathetic heart, and draw the trigger and see him fall is inexplicable.
But the deed is done. There is a black shadow on every hearthstone in America. It seems as if there were one dead in each house. Again and again we have prayed as we prayed this morning, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from us." God will hear our prayer, if not ...
T. DeWitt Talmage
Isa., 40: 1: " Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God."
This reiterated command to the ministers of re- ligion centuries ago is just as appropriate this terrible morning, while we are awaiting tidings from the suf- fering couch of our chief magistrate.
"The President shot!" was sounded through the rail-train as we halted a few moments on the morn- ing of July 2d, at Williamstown, Mass., the place at which the President was expected in three days. "Absurd and impossible," I said. I asked then, as I ask you now, Why should any one want to kill him? He had nothing but that which he had earned with his own brain and hand. He had fought his own way up from country home to college hall, and from college hall to the House of Representatives, and from House of Representatives to the Senate Chamber, and from the Senate Chamber to the Presidential chair. Why should any one want to kill him? He was not a despot who had been treading on the rights of the people. There was nothing of the Nero or the Robes- pierre in him. He had wronged no man. He was free and happy himself and wanted all the world free and happy. Why should any one want to kill him? He had a family to shepherd and educate, a noble wife and a group of little children leaning on his arm, and holding his hand, and who needed him for many years to come. If any one must shoot him, why shoot him then, just as after with indescribable perplexity and fatigue, he had launched his administration and was off for a few days of recreation which he had so dearly earned? How any man could take steady aim at such a good, kind, sympathetic heart, and draw the trigger and see him fall is inexplicable.
But the deed is done. There is a black shadow on every hearthstone in America. It seems as if there were one dead in each house. Again and again we have prayed as we prayed this morning, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from us." God will hear our prayer, if not ...
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