The Buchanan County guardian. (Independence, Buchanan County, Iowa) 1858-1864, 1862-11-18
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Orpheus c. Kerr ON the Proclamation.

| tucky cnap on the Penn nsylvanla avenue, and
was greatly edited by his highminded re
posed of my attached contrabands," says h,
sagely, !" am now deeply convinced that my
brother-in- law, the Southern Confederacy, has
brought this dispensation upon himself.
have said all along that it would be 50 at last .
says the genial Kentucky chap, casting anoth-
er glance at the score of recent game of Eu-
chre which he held in his hand, " | have said
all along that it would be SO ut last. and | am
still disposed to sustain the Administration
and crush the Black Republicans" 4
The Mackerel Chaplain who came up from
lighted with H. 0. Abe's promissory note and
considers that Old John Brown is at last
AVENGED
Gods scales of justice hang between
The deed Unjust and the end Unseen,
And the sparrows fall in the one is weighed
BY the Lords own Hand in the other laid
In the prairie path of the sunset gate,
In the flow ring heart of new born State
Are the hopes of an old mans waning years,
Meath headstones worn with an old man s
When .he bright sun sinks in the rose Tipped
West,
His last red ray in the hearths stones crest;
And the mounds he laves in u crimson flood
Are Soldiers wealth baPtsed in blood
Do We ask who reared those headstones there,
And crowned with thorns the sire's gray hair :?
And by whom the Lands great debt was paid
To the Soldier old, in the grave they made
Shrink, Pity shrink, at the questio,.s dire:
And, Honor, burn in blush of fire
Turn, Angel turn from the page thine eyes,
(lp tha opan xtrIttn
They were men of the land he had fought to
save -1
From foreign foe that had crossed the wave,
When his sunlit youth was a martial song,
And shook throne as it swelled along.
They We're suns of the cline whose soft, warm
breath
Is the soul of earth and life in death
Where the Summer dreams of the couch of
Spring,
And the songs of birds through the whole year
ring.
Where the falling leaf is the cup that grew
To catch the gems of the new leafs dew,
And the winds that thro' tile vine leaves creep
Are the sights of Time in pleasant sleep.
But there lurked a faint in the cline so blest,
Like a serpent coiled in ring doves nest,
And the human sounds to the ear il gave
Were the clank OF chains on a low broMed Slave!
The soldier old at his sentry post,
Where the suns last trail OF light is lost,
Behold the shame of the Land he loved
And the old, old love in his bosom moved.
He cried to the Land, Beware Beware
Of the symboled Curse in the Bondman there
And prophets soul in fire came down
To live in the voice Of old John Brown
He cried, and the migrate answer came
In words of steel from tongue Of flame
They dyed his hearth in the blood of kin,
And his dear ones fell for the nations Sin.
Q, matchless deed that fiend might scorn,
-, deed of shame for q world to mourn
a prophets pay in his blood most dear,
And land to mock at IA Fathers tear!
Is't strange that the tranquil soul of age
Was turned to strife in mad mans rage
Is't strange that the cry of blood did seem
Like the roll OF drums in martial dream
Is't strange the clank of the Helots chain,
Should drive the Wrong to the old man 5 brain
To fire his heart with Stantons zeal,
And mate his arm TO the Soldiers steel +?
The bane of Wrong to its depth had gone
And the sword of Right from its sheath was
drawn:
VI
Aud the old man armed him but to die
Yo may call him Mad that he did not quail
When his stout blade broke on the unblest mail
Ye may call him Mad. that he struck alone,
And made the lands dark Curse his own.
But the Eye of God looked down and saw
A just life lost by an uni ust law
And black was the day with Gods own frown
When the Southern Gross was martyrs Crown!
Apostate cline the blood then shed.
Fell thick with vengeance on thy head
To weigh it down meath the coming rod,
When the red right-hand should be stretched
to God.
Behold the price Of the life ye took
At the death We gave twas world that shook
And the despot deed that one heart broke,
From slayish sleep Million woke
Not all alone did the victim fall
Whose wrongs first brought him to your thrall ;
The old man played Nations part,
And yc struck your blow at a Nations heart
The freemen's s-host is at Your door,
And a Voice goes forth 18th stern /" no more -
To the deadly Curse, whose swift redeem
Was the visioned tho't Of John Browns dream
To the Country's Wrong, and the Country's
stain,
fibsSas iis 1AS W y iGldlHp grain
And the dauntless pow'r TO spread it forth,
Is the free born soul of the chainless North.
From the East and West and North they come.
To the bugle's call and the roll of drum
And n form walks yiewless by their side
A form that was born when the Old Man died !.
The Soldier old in his grave may lest,
Afar with his dead in the prairie West;
But red ray falls on the headstone there,
Like Gods reply to Soldiers pray'r.
He may sleep in peace meath the greenwood
pail,
For the lands great heart hath heard his call
And a peoples Will aud peoples Might,
Shall right the Wrong and proclaim the Right.
The foe may howl at the fiat Just,
And gnash his fangs In the trodded dust
But the battle leaves his bark a wreck,
And the Freeman's heel is ON his neck.
Not all in vain is the lesson taught.
That great souPs Dream is the Worlds New
Thought
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