We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, allover this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.
The Witch: Fate be changed, look inside. Mend the bond torn by pride.
With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.