Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1846-10-30
MISCELLANEOUS.
From tie PhiiadeAhia Set. C6u'ier.
The DCath-bGd Of Thomas Paine.
BY GEORGE LIrPhRD.

1OlilC WIN iAC " Aiiut lung t9lalth olltlN- D
come with me 10 the farm Of New Rochelle,
where an old man is dying.
Let us enter this rude and neglected room.
There, on yonder bed, with the June breeze
oh, it is sweet with the perfume of land
and occan-witi the June breeze blowing
softly through the open window, with CLEANS
Of June sunlight upon his brow-there, prop
ped up by pillows, on his death-bed, sits an
old man.
That form is shrunk-ihat face is stamped
with big wrinkles of age and alcohol-yct the
brow still looms out, a tower Of thought, The
eye still glares from that wreck of a flee
glarcs with soul.
lie is dying-death in the trembling hands
death in the Frightened cyes-death in
every bead of sweat upon the brow.
And who is here to comfort that old man
Wife, chlld} Al, none Of these are here /.
No sooly-whispered voice speaks love 10 the
passing soul-no kind and tender hand puts
back the grey hair from the damp brow.
Yet still that old man sits there against the
pillow, silent. calm, firm.
Softly blow the June breezes-sofly pours
the mild sunlight-sunlight and breezes, he
is about to leave forever, and yet he is firm.
Oh, tell me, my friends, why does this
death-room seem so awfuIly still and d~esolate!
1t is not so much because there is no wife, no
child there-not because there is no kind
hand to smooth back the grey hairs from the
damp brow-but, 0 Father Of souls-here
in this still room, with its poor furniture, it's
stray sunlight, and its suinme bGeeze-hcre,
in this still room, there is no mildly-beautiful
face of JESUS, the Redecmer. 10 look upon
the old man, to CLEAN beside his bed, to smile
Immortality in his glazing eyes.
This makes the room so awfully still and
desolate.
There is no JESUS here +!
Yes, without n word of recantation on his
lip-firm to his faith-one God, and no Jesus
firm to his stoical creed, which is all rea-
son and no faith, the old man, Thomas Paine,
picks at the coverlid, and takes death calmly
by the hand.
Now look: in this dread hour two men
come forward, a Doctor and a Preacher
What is their mission here Do they take
the old mans hands within their own, and
chafe away the dea,h-chill? Oh no! While
one has note and pencil in hand, the other
leans over the bed. Don't you see his pitt
full, whining face? He leans over the bed
and whispers, or rather screeches-Mistcr
Paine, we wish to know whether YOU have
changed your religious opinions? Do YOU
believe in our creed!
And while the Doctor is ready with his
| pCICls tnt i lOdNHVl lSdhS SuSTthBly litIC-
| awaits his answer!
Does not this scene disgust you There
are two pedlars of death-bed confessions,
waiting TO catch the last gasp of poor Tom
Paine! Do you think, my friends, that the
cause Of Christ depends upon narrow-souled
bigots like these-wlio, instead of placing the
cup Of cold water to the lips Of the death
stricken, come here, around tire death-bed,
smelling Of creeds, and breathing cant all the
while-and insult, with their paper and PEN
ell, the last hours of a dying old man!
Would your FeneIon, your Luther, your
Wesley, have done this Would your Bish-
op White, or your Charming, talk to a dying
man, with paper and pencil in hand, instead
Of moistcning his lips with a cup'of water, or
soothing his soul with the great truths of
Christ? Nay, would the blessed Redeemer
himself, who ever lifted up the bowed head,
ever forgave the trembling sinner, ever reach
ed forth the arms Of his Godhead to snatch
Despair from its sins and woes-would he
have entered thus the chamber of a dying
man, to talk of creeds, when there was a soul
to be redeemed? The thought is blasphe-
my!
Now listen to the only answer, that these
bigots could expect. The old man looked in
their faces, stamped with the petty lines of
s~ectarian Pharisism, and answered.
81 hare mn desj,e IN hegs,o in o,,,b;no or
he kjnd" saws the old man and % ,ggrnodS ~
FACE 70 tbo Wi -" Us
A. tbis roonnot Iooht A,.n
noars 80 d. 60 IT, :; Jsnel ne" ap-
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Swoves these PerciIlprs from the osoo auJ
tberNCod,s blassinr nnon he LonJ Nv
the old man by The hand, and silently smooths
back the damp hair from his brow.
80
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