Friends, the hour in which we live, and in which I speak
Friends, the hour in which we live, and in which I speak to you, is a gloomy hour, but of such is the terrible price of the future. A revolution is a toll-gate.
Oh, the human race shall be delivered, uplifted and consoled! We affirm it on this barricade. Whence shall arise the shout of love, if it be not from the summit of sacrifice?
O my brothers, here is the place of junction between those who think and those who suffer; this barricade is made neither of paving-stones, nor of timbers, nor of iron; it is made of two mounds, a mound of ideas and a mound of sorrows.
Misery here encounters the ideal. Here day embraces night, and says: I will die with thee and thou shalt be born again with me.
From the pressure of all desolations, faith gushes forth. Sufferings bring their agony here, and ideas their immortality. This agony and this immortality are to mingle and compose our death.
Brothers, he who dies here dies in the radiance of the future, and we are entering a grave illumined by the dawn.
Oh, the human race shall be delivered, uplifted and consoled! We affirm it on this barricade. Whence shall arise the shout of love, if it be not from the summit of sacrifice?
O my brothers, here is the place of junction between those who think and those who suffer; this barricade is made neither of paving-stones, nor of timbers, nor of iron; it is made of two mounds, a mound of ideas and a mound of sorrows.
Misery here encounters the ideal. Here day embraces night, and says: I will die with thee and thou shalt be born again with me.
From the pressure of all desolations, faith gushes forth. Sufferings bring their agony here, and ideas their immortality. This agony and this immortality are to mingle and compose our death.
Brothers, he who dies here dies in the radiance of the future, and we are entering a grave illumined by the dawn.
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