What if Lincoln's Press Secretary were William Shakespeare!

  

Hark! Where Gettysburg's hallowed fields do sleep,
A score and three years since battle stained the ground,
We gather, consecrate the soil so deep,
Where brave souls yielded life, with valor crowned.

For here, a nation tried, in fiery strife,
To test if government of, by, and for,
The common man, could long endure this life,
When tyrant's hand its very breath abhorred.

But war's grim toll hath touched this land so fair,
And still the serpent's coil doth bind us fast.
Can such devotion find its solace there,
These sacred dead, their sacrifice surpass?

Yea, let their deeds our noble purpose seal,
That this new birth of freedom shall prevail!