The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1888-07-04

the echo of the falling AK. 6ignl By
all your hopes in life or death, as hus-
bands, fathers-as men with our names
to the parchment, or be accused forever !
Sign, not only for yourselves, but for
all ages; for that parchment will DO
the textbook of freedom-the Bible OF
the rights of man forever.
Sign, for the declaration will go
forth to American hearts like the voice
of God. And its work will not be done
until throughout this wide continent
not single inch of ground owns the
sway of privilege of power.
Nay, do not start and whisper with
surprise. 1t is truth. Your own hearts
witness it; God proclaims it. This
continent is the property of free
people, and their property alone. God,
1 say, proclaims it. Look ut this
strange history of band of exiles
and outcasts suddenly transformed
into the people. Look ut this won
derful exodus of.the old world into the
new, where they came weak in arms,
but mighty in god-like faith. Nay,
look at the history of your Bunker
Hill, your Lexington, where band of
plain farmers Knocked and trampled
down the panoply of British arms, and
then tell me, If you can, that God has
not given America to be free. 1t is
not given to our poor human intellect
to climb the skies to pierce the coun-
ellis of the Almighty one. But me-
thinks stand among the awful clouds
which veil the brightness of Jehovah's
throne. NIethinks 1 see the recording
angel-pale rs angel is pale, weeping
as an angel can weep-come trembling
up to the throne, and speaking his
dreadful message.
Fatherl The old world is baptized
in blood. Father! 1t is drenched with
the blood of millions who have been
executed, in slow and grinding oppres-
sion. Father, look With one glance
of Thine eternal eye, look over Europe,
Asia, Africa, and behold everywhere
terrible sight-man trodden down be-
meath the oppressor's feet, nations lost
in blood, murder and superstition walk
ing hand in hand over the graves of
their victims, and not single voice to
whisper hope to man.
He stands there (the angel), his hand
trembling with the human guilt. But
bark The voice of Jehovah speaks out
from the awful cloud: Let there be
light again Let there be new world.
Tell my people, the poor, downtrodden
millions, to go out from the old world.
Tell them to go out from wrong, OPP
preston and blood. Tell them to go
out from the old world to build up my
altar in the new.
AS God lives, my friends, 1 believe
that to be his voice. Yes, were my soul
trembling as the wing of eternity, were
this hand freezing to death, were my
voice choking with the last struggle, 1
would still, with the last gasp of that
voice, implore you to remember the
truth. God has given America to be
free. Yes, as / sank down into the
gloomy shadows of the grave, with my
last gasp l would beg you to sign that
parchment. In the name of the One who
made you, the Savior who redeemed
you, in the name of the millions whose
very breath is now hushed, as, in intense
expectation, they look up to you for the
awful words, YOU ARE FREE
Many years have gone by since that
hour. The speaker, his brethren, all
have crumbled into dust, but the rec
ords of that hour still exist, and they
tell us that it would require an angels
pen to picture the magic of that speak
er's look, the terrible emphasis of his
voice, the prophetic-like reckoning of
his hand, the magnetic flames shooting
from his eyes, that fired every heart
throughout the hall. He fell exhausted
in his seat, as the work was done. A
wild murmur thrills through the hall.
Sign? Hal There is no doubt now.
Look How they rush forward Stout
hearted John Hancock has scarcely
time to sign his own name before the
pen is grasped by another, another and
another. Look how their names blaze
on the parchment, Adams and Lee and
Jefferson and Carroll, and now Roger
Sherman, the shoemaker. And here
comes good old Stephen Hopkins; yes,
trembling with palsy, he totters for
ward, quivering from head to foot.
With his shaking hand he seizes the
pen and scratches his patriot name.
Then comes Benjamin Franklin, the
printer. And now the tall man In the
red cloak advances-the man who made
the fiery speech a moment ago. With
the same hand that waved in fiery
scorn, he writes his name-Patrick
Henry.
And now the parchment is signed;
and now let the word go forth to the
people in the streets, to the homes of
America, to the camp of Washington;
to the palace of George, the idiot king;
let the word go out to all the earth.
And, old man in the steeple, now
bare your arm and grasp the iron
tongue, and let the bell speak out the
great truth.
Fifty-six farmers and mechanics have
this day struck at the shackles of the
world.