All this has been done by the worldly--by those, who were not "called" or "set apart" or filled with the Holy Ghost or had the slightest claim to "apostolic succession." The men who accomplished these things were not "inspired." They had no revelation--no supernatural aid. They were not clad in sacred vestments, and tiaras were not upon their brows. They were not even ordained. They used their senses, observed and recorded facts. They had confidence in reason. They were patient searchers for the truth. They turned their attention to the affairs of this world. They were not saints. They were sensible men. They worked for themselves, for wife and child and for the benefit of all. To these men we are indebted for all we are, for all we know, for all we have. They were the creators of civilization--the founders of free states--the saviors of liberty--the destroyers of superstition and the great captains in the army of progress. IV. WHOM shall we thank? Standing here at the close of the 19th century--amid the trophies of thought--the triumphs of genius--here under the flag of the Great Republic--knowing something of the history of man--here on this day that has been set apart for thanksgiving, I most reverently thank the good men, the good women of the past, I thank the kind fathers, the loving mothers of the savage days. I thank the father who spoke the first gentle word, the mother who first smiled upon her babe. I thank the first true friend. I thank the savages who hunted and fished that they and their babes might live. I thank those who cultivated the ground and changed the forests into farms--those who built rude homes and watched the faces of their happy children in the glow of fireside flames--those who domesticated horses, cattle and sheep--those who invented wheels and looms and taught us to spin and weave--those who by cultivation changed wild grasses into wheat and corn, changed bitter things to fruit, and worthless weeds to flowers, that sowed within our souls the seeds of art. I thank the poets of the dawn--the tellers of legends--the makers of myths--the singers of joy and grief, of hope and love. I thank the artists who chiseled forms in stone and wrought with light and shade the face of man. I thank the philosophers, the thinkers, who taught us how to use our minds in the great search for truth. I thank the astronomers who explored the heavens, told us the secrets of the stars, the glories of the constellations--the geologists who found the story of the world in fossil forms, in memoranda kept in ancient rocks, in lines written by waves, by frost and fire--the anatomists who sought in muscle, nerve and bone for all the mysteries of life--the chemists who unraveled Nature's work that they might learn her art--the physicians who have laid the hand of science on the brow of pain, the hand whose magic touch restores--the surgeons who have defeated Nature's self and forced her to preserve the lives of those she labored to destroy.