Клуб Любителей Юсупа on Clubhouse

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Fo­ur sco­re and se­ven years ago our fat­hers bro­ught forth on this con­ti­nent, a new na­ti­on, con­ce­ived in Li­ber­ty, and de­dica­ted to the pro­posi­ti­on that all men are cre­ated equ­al.

Now we are en­ga­ged in a gre­at ci­vil war, tes­ting whet­her that na­ti­on, or any na­ti­on so con­ce­ived and so de­dica­ted, can long en­du­re. We are met on a gre­at batt­le-fi­eld of that war.

We ha­ve co­me to de­dica­te a por­ti­on of that fi­eld, as a fi­nal res­ting pla­ce for tho­se who he­re ga­ve the­ir li­ves that that na­ti­on might li­ve. It is al­to­get­her fit­ting and pro­per that we sho­uld do this.

But, in a lar­ger sen­se, we can not de­dica­te — we can not con­secra­te — we can not hal­low — this gro­und. The bra­ve men, li­ving and de­ad, who strugg­led he­re, ha­ve con­secra­ted it, far abo­ve our po­or po­wer to add or det­ract. The world will litt­le no­te, nor long re­mem­ber what we say he­re, but it can ne­ver for­get what they did he­re.
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