The weekly Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1854-1861, 1856-12-04
-l From the philadelphia Saturday Courier.
The DeaIh.bcd Of Thomas Paine.

=
ellie, 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 ocenn,-wilh the June breeze, blowing
softly through the open window, with CLEANS
Of June sunlight upon his Lrow-lhere, prop
ped up byrpiiows, on his death. bed, sits an
old man.
That form is shrunk, that face stamped
with the big wrinkles of age and alcohol;
yet the brow still looms out, a tower of
thought, the eye still glares from that wreck
of face--glares with soul.
He is dying, Death in the trembling
hands, death in the frightening eyes, death
in every bead ofsweat upon the brow.
And who is here TO comfort that old man!
Wife, child! All, none Of these are here!-
No softly whispered voice speaks love to the
passing soul; no kind and teEder hand puts
back the gray bair from his damp brow.
Yet still that old man sits there against
the pillow, silent, calm and firm.
Softly blow the June breezes, softly pours
the mild sunlght-suplight and breezes, he
is about TO leave forever, and he is firm.
Oh tell me, my friends, why does this
death room seem awfully still and desc late /!
1t is not so much because there is no wife
no child here; not because there is no kind
hand to smooth back the grey hairs from the
damp brow-but oh! father OF souls
Here in this still room, with its pure furni.
rture, lis stray sunlight, and its summer
breeze; here in this still room there is no
mildly beautiful face of Jesus, the Redeem.
er, to look upon the old man, to CLEAN be.
side his bed, to smile Immortality in his ga,
zing eyes.
There is no Jesus here.
Yes, without word of recantalion on his
lips firm to his fa;th-one God and no Je-
sus-frm to his stoical creed, which is all
reason and no faith, the I'D man, Thomas
Paine, picks at the coverlid, and takes death
calmly by the hand.
: Now look, in this dread hour, two men
came forward, doctor and n preacher
What is their mission here! Do they take
the old mans hands within their own and
chafe away the death chill! Oh, no!
\ While one has note and pencil in hand,
the other leans over the bed. Don't you see
his piuirul whining face! He leans over the
bed and whispers, or rather screeches: "Nlr.
Paine, We wish to know whether you have
changed your religious opinions! Do you be-
lieve in our creed!" ..:e
And while the doctor is ready with his
pencil, the preacher leans gaspingly there
for an answer. s..... ........r..
Does not this scene disgust you! There
are two peddicrs 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-who, instead of placing the cup
of cold water 10 the lips Of the death strick-
en-, come perc, around the death bed, smell
4 ling Of creeds and breathing cant all of the
, whie--and insult with their paper and pen
n Gil, the last hours Of dying old man.
] Would your Fenelon, your Luther, your
Wesley, have done this! Would your Bish
I, op White, or your Charming, have talked tc
dying man,. with paper and pencil in hand
instead of moistenipg his lips with the cur
of water, or soothing his soul with the
great truths Of Christ! Nay, would the
blessed Redecmer himself who ever lftet
up the bowed head, ever forgave the trem.
bling sinner, ever reached forth the arms oi
j his Gpdhead to snatch despair from its sins
: and woes-would he haye entered thus the
t chamber OF a dying man, to talk of creeds
; when there was soul to be redeemed! The
Il thought is blasphemy. .'..,'. .......
Now listed to the only answer that these
y bigots could expect. The old man looked
u in their faces, stamped with the petty lines
: Of secturan Pharisasm, and answered:
u II have no desire to believe anything o
Il the kind!" says the old man, and turned biz
= face to the wall. 'taH2a~e #,5 H# #a.#sHa
At this moment look! Another man np
> pears on the scene. He is dressed in tht
garb of Quaker. He pushes the bigot'
aside-waves the pencilIers from the room
aud then--God's blessings upon his head
y takes the old man by the hand, and silen,l,
smooths back the damp hair from his brow
u a Pune looks his speochless thanks in tina
! stout hearted Quaker's face. ,r .. .-s.
"Frend Thomas," says the Friend, "trus
y in. Christ He died for thee, His mercy i
: fathomless as the seal" a-.ge .r. aaa
> Never did the plain coat and broad brim
med hat look more like an Angels garI
! than then. Not even in tie hour when vii
} liam Penn, under the Elm Of Shuckmaxon
= spoke immortal words to the rude red men
: Never did Quaker 'Hhee" and "thou" SCUM
I more lovely, more like an angels tongue
1 than then. Not even when from the lips o
v the Apostle William, it sent forth from tht
h shores Of the Delaware, to all the world, thu
v message Of peace and toleTation. a.
). Thomas Paine grasped that Quaker BY th'
: hand, and gazed in his, face with dim eyes.
+ Now, my friends. Do not let your heart
d falter, but go 20 with me TO the end Of thi
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