The labor world. [volume] (Duluth, Minn.) 1896-current, 1907-09-28

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[|Srepeat g & would Ike to repeat many
times, 20 that the most careless listener
here could not choose hut carry II itaa
away with him When In doubt look
which way Freedom lies and have the
courage to follow the path. This world
has never been moved a fraction Of
step by authority: Force and author1|
ity not only have accomplished moth
ing-absolutely nothing-but they have
held back the world. Compare Russia
today with the rest of Europe. There
is suffering and oppression enough In
the rest Of Europe, but it is white
page compared to the black record of
Russia. There men may not speak ex-
cept as approved by authority. Men
may not write or read except as ap-
proved by authority. The struggle to-
wards Freedom Is rewarded with the
bloody knout on the backs Of the men
and the hoofs of the Cossacks' horses
in the bosoms Of the women. Siberia
and the desolate places and the damp
dungeons swallow into oblivion those
who would dare speak for liberty.
These are the methods Of the Bastile,
and the Star Chamber, and the InQuis-
ition: and Russia stands today where
France, England and Spain stood when
the Bastile ard the Star Chamber and
the Inquisition prevailed: q. land of
Indebtedness and poverty and ignor-
ance, sending up now and again some
martyr, like a meteor In a blackened
sky, calling the world to witness. And
what does the martyr beg for and die
for? Freedom And what is it which
makes the Europe of today different
from the Russia of today? Freedom.
Freedom is the food and air and light
by which man fourishes physically,
mentally and morally.
How can I number those martyrs
upon whom authority has laid it's
hand, crushing out their life because
they spoke words for Freedom? The
great leaders Of thought and righte-
ousness-the Buddha, Socrates, and,
greatest Of all, the Christ who will
hang forever upon the cross, eternal
symbol of the relentlessness Of author
ity against even the gentlest and
| meekest advocate Of universal love.
The victims of authority in the politi-
cal world are all that vast army of the
| unknown whose heads have fallen,
whose limbs have been crushed, whose
lives have rotted out in dungeons since
the battle between Freedom and Auth
GRITTY began.
Algernon Sidney! Papers were found
in his possession in his handwriting
declaring that the people, the plain
masses of the plain people, were the
source and authority Of all law. For
this he trod the gallows' steps, desert
ed by every friend. And the rule Of
men by the divine right Of kings tri-
umphed; there was no one left bold
enough to repeat his words. But the
truth that Sidney saw did not die; be,
ing Truth it could not die. And in
the progress Of time we find that stern,
round-headed English gentleman
Oliver Cromwell, going up and down
the land with his regiment of Iron
sides, sweeping, it clean of the falsity
Of this right of the few to rule the
| many; and he wrote upon the parch-
ments Of Parliament as the law Of the
land 1.-THE source of all law under God
is the people,"
John Brown! He, too, trod the gal
lows steps alone; and for him the
gentlest and most charitable words
that could be found were, HE is a
fanatic!" "A crazy visionary!' The
earth took back the body which she
had given and he was forgotten. Slav-
cry was triumphant. Peace reigned.
Force and authority had stamped out
the lie that man was born to be free.
But was it a lie? Was it stamped out?
1t was part of the eternal and immort-
al truth that man must and will be
free. The" poor, broken body Of John
Brown lay Wondering in the grave,
but his soul was marching on.
And the soul Of each one Of us, if
it has grasped even so much as the
hem of the garment of Truth, will go
on forever. Some of us are great
| tempests which toss the ocean Of man.
| kind into storms, and others are heavy
boulders which plunge from the noun
tain-side into the lake; but the most
of us are only insignificant pebbles
| which make a few ripples in our little
placid pond. But though we be for
gotten, what of that? The sun shines
| and the waters glisten and the leaves
| rustic not alone for you and for me-
t for the race. Nature is as careless
! and Indifferent to the name of Alex
| ander, Caesar or Plantagenet-aye So
| crates, Cromwell or Darwin,-as ii Is
| to your name or mine. The world has
been moved not only by the famous
leaders of men, but by the innumer-
| able hosts who, consumed with hunger
for truth and loyal unto death, have
! gone into oblivion.
On these bright June mornings the
! bees radiate from their hives to the
honied pastures, and each thoughtless
Of herself plumbers the fragrant blooms
that the hives may live. If some fall
by the wayside, if some are overtaken
by the frost of night, if some meet
death in the midst Of their labors, the
hive huns on. What Is 1t to the hive
that this one has died, or that? The
hive exists not for this bee or that
bee, or any number of bees, nor for all
the bees of the hive; it exists that the
race may live. So 1t is with us. Climb
| the tOpmOst pinnacle Of fame write