The Labor enquirer., 1885-02-07
Why turns esery 3sncs y !

Why turns syery Hsncs t6 thxt Z j 3
Why is It 90 terribly still !? = 'z 4.
The committee Of three, who have
been out all night planning q parchment.
are about to appear.
That parchment, with the signatures
of these men, written with the pen
lying on yonder table, may either make
the world free, or stretch these necks
upon the gibbet yonder in Potter's field,
or nail these heads to the door post of
these halls.
That was the time for solemn faces and
deep silence.
I AT last, bark The door opensTthe
committee appear. Who are these men
who come walking on to John Hancock's
chair?
The tall man with sharp features, the
bold brow and sand -hued hair, holding
the parchment in his hand, is the Vir-
ginia farmer, Thomas Jefferson. That
stout built man, with resolute look and
sparkling eye-that is Boston man, bne
John Adams. And the calm.faced man,
with hair dropping in thick curls to his
shoulders that man dressed in PLAIN
coat and such odious homemade blue
stockings that is the Philadelphia
printer, one Benjamin Franklin.
The three advance to the table. The
parchment is laid there. Shall.it be
signed or not?
Then ensues high debate; then all
the faint-hearted cringe ia corners, while
Thomas jefferson speaks out his few
bold words, and JohnAdams pours out
his whole soul.
Then the soft-tonsd voice Of Charles
CarrolIis heard pndulating in syllables
of deep music.
But still there is doubt, and that pale
faced man, shrinking in one corner.
squeaks out something about axes, scaf-
folds and--a giDbetl
aGibbetp echoesa bold, fierce tone,
that startles men from their seats-and
look yohder! A tall, slender form rises.
dressed, although ii is summer time, in a
faded red cloak. Look how his white
hand trembles, as tits stretched slowly
out; how that dark eye burns, while his
words ring through the hail.
"Gibbetl They may stretch our necks
on all d gibbets III the land they may
turn eva yrock into a scaffold, every tree
into a q lows, every home into q grave,
and vel oshe words Of that parchment can
never die!
".They may pour our blood on 3 thou
sand scaffolds, and ye. from every drop
that dyes the axe, or drops on the saw
dust of the block, q new martyr to fres-
dom will spring into BIRTH zz8
'sThe British king may blot ov
stars of God from His sky, but he cannot
blot out His words written on the parch-
ment there. The WORK Of God may
perish; HIS word, neyerl
"These words will 60 forth TO the
world when our homes are dust. To tire
slave in bondage they will speak hope
to the mechanic in his workshop, free-
dom to the coward king these words
will speak, but not in tones Of fatterv.
They will speak like the flaming sylla7
bles on Belshazzar's wall !: The days of
your pride and glory are numberedl
The days ofjudgment draw nearp
"Yes, that parchment viii speak to
kings in language sad and terrible as tho
trumpet of the Archangel. You have
trampled on the rights Of msnkisd long
enough. AT last the voice Of human
woe has pierced the ear Of God, and
called His judgment down. You have
waded on. to thrones through seas Of
blood !; you have trampled on to power
over the necks of millions; you have
turned the poor rman's sweat and blood
into robes for your delicate forms, into
crowns for your annointed brows. Now,
kings! Now, purple hangmen of the
world ] For you comes the the day Nof
axes, and gibbets, and scafolds; for YOU
the wrath of man; for you the lightnings
Of God.
Look How the light Of your palaces
on fire flashes up into the midnight sky I
Now, purpled hangmen Of the world,
turn and beg for mercy Where will
you find it? Not from God, for You have
blasphemed His lawsl' Not from the
people, for you stand baptized in their
blood Here you turn, and 10! a gibbetll
There, and scafold stares you iH the
facel All around you-death- but no.
where pity Now, executioners of the
human race, kneel down; yes, kneeI
Il - i