Fourscore and seven years ago
Upon the continent was born
A nation new, as well we know,
Which heralds forth the golden morn.
Conceived in liberty and right,
This land is given to the free,
And all are equal, none by might
Shall e'er debased or cowered be.
A civil war of mighty power
Is testing now our country's strength,
The issues of this very hour
May cause the nation's death at length.
We're met upon this battle-field
A final resting place to give
To those who fought, and would not yield,
That this, their nation, still might live.
We cannot consecrate this ground
Since the brave men who struggled here,
With sabers bare, at cannon's mouth,
Have hallowed it and made it dear;
The world will little note our needs
Or long remember what we say,
But never can forget their deeds,
As they fought nobly in the fray.
It is for us—those living now—
To be devoted to the cause,
To take a consecration vow,
And still the booming cannons' jaws
The honored dead should give us cheer.
Should us inspire with hope and life,
Should banish every doubt and fear
And quicken us to win the strife.
Let us resolve that those who died
For us shall not have died in vain,
Let us be firm on freedom's side
And loyal to the cause remain;
We pray that this land, under God,
Of freedom shall have a new birth,
That liberty, won by the sword,
Shall not perish from the earth.
