It is not my nature, when I see a people borne down by the

Hear the solemn and noble words of Abraham Lincoln: “It is not my nature, when I see a people borne down by the weight of their shackles—the oppression of tyranny—to make their life more bitter by heaping upon them greater burdens; but rather would I do all in my power to raise the yoke than to add anything that would tend to crush them.” In this declaration, Lincoln reveals not only his political creed but the essence of his heart: mercy, justice, and the refusal to exploit the suffering of the oppressed. His words resound across time as both a warning and a promise—that the measure of a leader is not found in how he treats the strong, but in how he lifts those who are bowed low.

To speak of “shackles” and the “oppression of tyranny” is to summon the image of slavery and all forms of subjugation that degrade human dignity. Lincoln, born into humble beginnings and rising to the highest office of the land, knew well the weight of poverty, labor, and injustice. He could not ignore the suffering of those who bore literal chains, nor the crushing burdens of those ground down by social or political oppression. His words reflect the spirit that would later animate his fight for emancipation—the conviction that no man was born to add weight to the shackles of another, but to break them.

History reveals the origin of this spirit in Lincoln’s own life. As a youth, he saw slavery with his own eyes while traveling down the Mississippi, watching men and women auctioned like cattle. The sight seared his conscience, and though he could not then alter their fate, he carried within him a vow never to be the hand that pressed harder upon the oppressed. This vow matured into the voice of a statesman, who in the midst of civil war would choose not vengeance upon the South, but mercy and reconciliation, declaring “malice toward none, charity for all.”

The meaning of Lincoln’s words is thus twofold. First, it is a rejection of cruelty—the refusal to add suffering upon those who are already crushed. Second, it is a call to active compassion—to “raise the yoke” rather than turn away. It is not enough to refrain from harm; true greatness lies in using one’s power to lighten the burdens of others. In this way Lincoln’s ethic transcends politics; it becomes a principle of human conduct, binding upon every soul who encounters suffering in another.

Consider also the example of Moses in ancient days, who when he saw his people under bondage in Egypt, did not join with their oppressors, though he lived in Pharaoh’s house. Instead, he rose to defend them, and became the instrument by which their chains were broken. Lincoln’s spirit is of the same kind: the man who could have sought his own comfort chose instead to bear the burdens of a nation in conflict, to wrestle with its sins, and to fight for the liberation of those who could not free themselves.

The lesson for us is clear: in every age, in every walk of life, we will see men and women bowed beneath burdens—whether of poverty, injustice, prejudice, or despair. The temptation may arise to ignore them, or worse, to add weight to their suffering for our own gain. But Lincoln’s words remind us of the higher path: do not heap burdens where burdens already lie, but do what you can to lift the yoke. Even the smallest act of kindness, the smallest lifting of another’s load, becomes an act of heroism in the eyes of eternity.

So I say to you: remember Lincoln’s wisdom. “It is not my nature… to make their life more bitter.” Let this be your own creed. Refuse to be the hand that presses down upon the oppressed. Be instead the hand that lifts, the shoulder that bears, the heart that heals. For in lifting the yoke of another, you rise yourself; in lightening their burden, you fulfill the noblest law of all—that true power is not in crushing others, but in raising them up. And such a legacy, like Lincoln’s, will outlast the years and echo in the annals of time.