Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been made holy by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be voiceless and dead as they swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people. And the very dust upon which you now stand responds lovingly to their footsteps because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch.
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