The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1899-07-30
The Declaration OF the Free.

In vain attacks
And we Will never meanly try
To save some fair and pleasing lie.
The simple truth is what we ask,
Not the ideal.
We've set ourselves the noble task
To find the real
If all there is is naught but dross.
We want TO know and bear our loss.
We will not willingly be fooled
BY fables nursed;
Our hearts by earnest thought are school
To bear the worst.
And we can stand erect and dare
All things, all facts that really are.
We have no God TO serve or fear,
No he'll to shun,
No devil with malicious leer.
When life is done
An endless sleep may close our eyes.
sleep with neither dreams nor signs.
We have no master on the land
No king In air
Without a manacle we stand.
Without a prayer;
Without fear of coming night,
We seek the truth, we love the light
We do not bow before a guess,
A vague unknown;
senseless force we do not bless
In solemn tone.
When evil comes we do not curse
Or thank because it is no worse.
When cyclones rend when lightning
blights,
IT'S naught but fate:
There is no God of wrath who smites
In heartless hate.
Behind the things that iujure man
There is no purpose, thought or plan.
The jewelled cup of love we drain.
And friendships wine
Now swiftly flows in every vein
With warmth divine
And so we love and hope and dream
That In deaths sky there is a CLEAN.
We walk according TO our light,
Pursue the path
That leads to honor's stainless height,
Careless of wrath
Or curse of God or priestly spite
Longing to know and do the right.
We love our fellow man, our kind
Wife child and friend
To phantoms we are deaf and blind,
But we extend
The helping hand to the distressed:
By lifting others we are blessed.
Loves sacred fame within the heart
And friendships glow
While all the miracles of art
Their wealth bestow
Upon the thrilled and Joyous brain.
And present TaptuTes Danish pain.
We love no phantom Of the skies,
But living flesh
With passions soft and soulful eyes,
Lips warm and fresh
And cheeks with healths red flag I'M
fured-
The breathing angels of this world.
The hands that help are better far
Than lips that pray
Love is the ever cleaning star
That leads the way,
That shines not on vague worlds of bliss
But on a paradise on this.
We do not pray or weep or wall;
We have no dread
No fear to pass beyond the veil
That hides the dead
And yet we question, dream and guess,
But knowledge we do not possess.
We ask yet nothing seems to know:
We cry in vain.
There is no master Of the show"
Who will explain.
VT FOIu the Iuluie rear tne mask.
And yet we dream, and still we ask.
Is there beyond the silent night
An endless day?
Is death a door that leads to light?
We cannot say
The tongueess secret locked In fate
We do not know; we hope and wait
-O-o-s-
William Augustus Bixby, OF Warren.
Ill. was born great and has been con-
stantly achieving greatness ever since,
says an exchange. He now weighs S75
pounds. and has scornfully refused sever
al fattering offers to exhibit himself in
Chicago dime museums as the largest
farmer in Illinois. Mr.. Bixby successfully
conducts farm near Warren, and is also
noted as the champion dry goods box
story teller of Northern Illinois. Mr. Blk
by is a noted performer on the flute and
ACCORDION, and takes part in every old
time fiddlers' contest held in the vicinity.
He is now IS years old, and declares that
he is the most comfortable man i'm the
state He has never suffered the slightest
discomfort from his size.