As we look back at the warring world of yesterday, yea as we look at the warring world to-day (1920), we are reminded that the history of the human family tells a long, sad story of war and bloodshed and death. The path which humanity has traveled stretches back into the dim distance, a long gleaming line of white human bones. The flowers, the trees, and the shrubs along the way have been nurtured by the red blood that flowed from human hearts. All over the world the battle has waged; away down in Egypt where the Nile scatters her riches; upon the banks of the Tiber which for centuries has reflected the majesty of Rome; upon the heights above the castle crowned Rhine; on the banks of the peaceful Thames; and upon the prairies that sweep back from the Father of Waters, men have fought and died. In the field and in the forest, by the sweet running brook, and upon the burning sands, in the mountain pass, and in the stony streets of the populous city, within the chancel rail of holy churches, and at the dark entrance to the Bastile—in all these places, and in a thousand more, the hand of the oppressed has been lifted against the oppressor, the right to be free that God gave to men has struggled with the power which might has given, and, alas! so often might has triumphed, and the slave, sick at heart, has been scourged to his dungeon. On a thousand hillsides burning fagots have consumed men who dared to dream of freedom, and in dark and slimy prison cells where God’s sunlight seldom entered, men have rotten with clanking chains upon their limbs because they dared to ask for the rights of freemen. In the olden days force ruled the world; the king, the crown, the scepter, were the insignia of power. All about were the instruments of force, the cannon, the moated castle, the marching armies of the king. And so it was until the American Nation was born, a Nation founded by exiles who were fleeing from oppression, from unrestrained power, exiles who dreamed of establishing a Nation, exiles with stout hearts and with strong hands with which to build it—a Nation where there would be no master and no slaves, where the citizen would rule and not the soldier, where the home and the school and not the castle would stand as the citadel of the Nation, where the steel would at last be molded into plowshares, and not into swords, where, instead of martial music, the song of the plowboy and the hum of the spinning wheel would greet the ear, where lust for power would be dethroned and brute force strangled, where love would rule and not brutality, where justice and not vengeance would be the end of judicial investigation, where the rights of men to live and to enjoy the fruits of their labor would be recognized. This was the dream of the fathers of the republic as they laid the foundation in the long ago.