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A Child's Globe. Johnson did not define the American faith more precisely but, he said, America's enemies always underestimate the power of that faith. Despite this reference to "enemies," and despite a condemnation of isolationism old and new—for, said Johnson, the American covenant requires the expenditure of lives and treasure "in countries we barely know"—it was an inward-looking speech, echoing domestic hopes and concerns. "In a land rich in harvest, children just must not go hungry," said the President. "In a land of healing miracles, neighbors must not suffer and die unattended. In a great land of learning and scholars, young people must be taught to read and write."
Love seemed to be pouring from Johnson as he spoke about the futility of human quarrels on an absurdly tiny earth: "Think of our world as it looks from the rocket that is heading toward Mars. It is like a child's globe, hanging in space, the continents stuck to its side like colored maps. We are all fellow passengers on a dot of earth. And each of us, in the span of time, has really only a moment among our companions. How incredible it is that in this fragile existence we should hate and destroy one another. There is world enough for all to seek their happiness in their own way." Often, with inexplicable timing, Johnson allowed a benign smile to crease his face during passages not requiring a smile—an unsettling podium quirk that he resorts to, apparently, whenever he gets a notion that his audience may feel he looks too stern.
The speech was an admonition rather than a clarion call. Significantly, the President was at his most stirring when he praised slow and painful effort, in a passage that evoked the labor of Sisyphus and seemed to allude not merely to Johnson's own methods, not merely to the U.S., but to the condition of man. The Great Society, said Johnson, "is the excitement of becoming—always becoming, trying, probing, falling, resting and trying again—but always trying and always gaining."
He sounded an almost sad note when he continued: "This is what America is all about. It is the uncrossed desert and the unclimbed ridge. It is the star that is not reached and the harvest sleeping in the unplowed ground. Is our world gone? We say farewell. Is a new world coming? We welcome it—and we will bend it to the hopes of man."
A Subdued Gait. Johnson alluded to his 30 years in public life and paid careful tribute to family and friends "who have followed me down a long, winding road." There was a studied humility in his repetition of a sentence spoken when he assumed office after John Kennedy's assassination: "I will lead, and I will do the best I can." There was humility also in his bowed head and his unusually short steps as he walked to and from the lectern, as if, for this day at least, he wished to replace his jaunty Texas stride with a more subdued gait.