The Project Gutenberg EBook of Oration on Charles Sumner, Addressed to Colored People, by Anonymous This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Oration on Charles Sumner, Addressed to Colored People Author: Anonymous Release Date: January 7, 2019 [EBook #58645] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORATION ON CHARLES SUMNER *** Produced by hekula03, David King, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive.) Oration on Charles Sumner, Addressed to Colored People. Oration On Charles Sumner, Addressed To Colored People. "And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me: Write! Blessed are the dead which die In the Lord! That they may rest from their labors, And their works Do follow them."—Rev. xiv., 13. By EVANGELINE. ALBANY: WEED, PARSONS & CO., PRINTERS. 1874. CHARLES SUMNER. In Memoriam. The nation's heart is sad! Her best beloved son, The great and good! Has winged his flight from earth, And white robed angels Shift the gorgeous scenery of the sky To let his soul pass onward To his God! Who sent his messenger to bid him "Come." Sumner is dead! Oh! many moons must come And many go Ere we be comforted again, Or hush the sighs That follow him up the golden stair, Echoing through all the shining corridors Of heaven, Where our beloved one has gone to rest! Sumner is dead! Oh, sad refrain! In which the teeming earth Doth find a voice, And nature's gentle hands Are laid within the clasping of our own; Stilling the joyous songs of long silent Birds, That no awakening sound disturb our grief! She casts her snow white mantle O'er the whispering grass! And hushes the hasty footfall Of coming spring! Calling to the swift March wind To carry along the golden clouds To waiting angels The mournful tidings of our woe! Sumner is dead! O sad repeating words! That beat upon our hearts Like showers of frozen hail! Melting in tears! That swell the tidal wave of sorrow, Sweeping adown the great Pacific slopes, Rushing along To the sorrowful shores of the broad Atlantic. Sumner is dead! And bitter tears From our sad eyes Doth make us little recompense For his most noble life! Though The nations of the earth rise up to comfort us; The glorious Orient and the kindly Occident Stretch forth their hands To us Across the spaces of the earth! Sumner is dead! And the tears of heaven Are mingling with the tears of earth, Above his new made grave. Showers of stormy rain Descend upon the grave of our beloved dead, Whose most honored dust Is heirloom To all the sorrowing nations of the earth! Sumner is dead! O mournful hearts, At whose red-lintel doors The angel of sorrow knocks, And knocks again! O tear filled eyes! upon whose drooping fringes The heavy foot of sorrow presses hard Be comforted! For God shall wipe the tears from your sad eyes. Oration. There is a word, When once spoken, Fixes its meaning upon every human brain, And finds a habitation, Within the sacred chambers of the soul; A word, Whether spoken on the shores of the Orient, Lying in slumbrous dreams A-near the sun! Or the land of the snow and ice, Where gorgeous temples arise, Whose translucent walls are Builded without the sound of hammer or chisel! Whether spoken In the halls of learning or at the fireside, On the ship's deck Or the soldier's camp, Finds an echo In every human heart! A word, At whose sound The pages of history open, And the stirring deeds of our forefathers Are marshaled forth to meet us! Thousands of trusty swords leap from their scabbards, And the hillsides Are populous with rising life; Long lines of shadowy soldier-forms Start up, Forming in dense array along the valleys, Bearing evidence Of the word, Whose meaning Has never been changed since The Almighty traced the boundaries of the sea. And bid the earth come forth From the womb of waters! That word is Freedom! A word Fraught with deepest meaning To ye, O ye down-trodden nation! Who stood alone Under the sombre shadow of the past, waiting For the angel of the future, the sound Of whose foot-falls made the present tremulous With coming tidings! A word, Pregnant with joys to the poor fettered slave, Toiling in the heat and burthen of the day In southern fields, Where the snowy cotton Unfurls its fleecy banner to the breeze! Or in the luxuriant tropics, Where forests Are all ablaze with gorgeous flowers, and birds, And the odorous air Is laden with orange and spice! Or toiling In northern latitudes, Where his best efforts And upward tendencies are clogged! His life burdened with sorrow, And ill-requited toil! O ye men! Over whose helpless nakedness He cast the mantle of liberty, woven out! Woof and weft! Of the threads of his very life! Ye men! Whose faces were never so black as not to show Behind their dark surface The features of a brother! Whose hands, unstained by crime, were never so black As to be unfit for his grasp! In loving token of a long lost Brotherhood! O ye men! Whom he discovered Prone in the valley of tribulation! Looking with infinite longing, and sad yearning eyes, At the solemn vault of heaven, Where stars Take their nightly course Around a mysterious centre! Wondering, If within the folding of those azure doors, There was room for you! Ye men! For whom this great apostle of liberty Stretched forth the rod of justice, And smote, With a fearless blow, the stony rock of national caste, Till all the waters of liberty Flowed forth! And he gave you to drink! Ye may well Stand with uncovered heads, Above his new made grave, Bowed down with a weight of woe— A sense of loss too great for human expression! For the good man, Whom God called in the morning of his life, To be a modern Moses To an oppressed and down-trodden nation, Upon whose lives The iron-foot of bondage made its impress! For the hand That bore aloft the proud banner of freedom, And scaled the walls of deep-rooted prejudice, To demand From the custodians of human liberty, The scroll of your birth-right! Lies cold and still In death! The strong right arm That smote the pillar of Your wrongs in the dust! Calling back Fleeting generations, before whose revelations The white faces of the earth Stood still! Trembling before outraged heaven. Upon whose faithful pages every oppression, Every lash of the whip, Every tear From long suffering eyes were registered For future reference! "Beware!" Said Sumner in his great appeal to humanity, "Of the groans of wounded souls; Oppress not to the uttermost A single heart! For one solitary sigh has power to overset A whole world!" O, ye freed people! Scarce had the name of Fillmore Traced its guilty lines upon the page Of that most consummate act Of cruelty, When a hundred guns from Boston's classic heights Belched forth their teeming fire In ratification Of the great treaty of blood! Like a ponderous knell! Their jarring sound boomed out your death cry, Upon the soul of Sumner! And all the night, of that most lurid day, Alone with his God. His fast retreating and coming footsteps Made his silent chamber eloquent with his agony. And kept their mournful rhythm With the throes of his soul! This true man Who stood up in your midst Like a pillar of light! Endowed with power to emit a radiance All its own! When friend and foe alike Refusing the succor and protection Of a common humanity; Would force back the hapless, Fugitive slave To the hell of slavery; "Thus openly DEFYING Every sentiment of justice, humanity and christian duty." Leaving to coming generations A record of human wrongs, "Amongst the crimes of history, another Is about to be recorded, Which no tears can blot out!" Said the upright statesman. As he stood Amidst the surging tide Of calumny and misconception, Bearing up Against the pressure of the waves of "caste." His solemn words echoing through the senate: "By the supreme law Which commands me to do justice; By the comprehensive And conscientious law Of brotherhood; By the constitution I have sworn to support, I am bound to disobey this act! And never, In any circumstance, can I render voluntary aid to it! Pains and penalties I will endure! This great wrong I will not do. Better be the victim, Than the instrument of wrong!" Fired! With Athenian eloquence, Towering aloft in his noble manhood! Bearing the grand proud form Of a Cret'an hero! Hurling! The thunder of heaven Upon the guilty heads Of your inhuman and infamous oppressors, Who would enslave The very freedom of his speech! And hang The fetters of party strife Upon his independent thoughts! But he rose up in his giant strength, Raising the prostrate column Of your rights, Manfully fighting for it, block by block, Every inch of the ground Contested! What wonder That common minds, Lacking the moral vertebræ (backbone) Of a grand and noble humanity, should deem him Passionate! Yet, "what is life Without passionate feeling To false sentiment? It is, indeed, a dangerous auxiliary; But no true sentiment is complete Without it." And truer sentiments Never lit the fires of eloquence in a purer breast Than Sumner's! A breast that heaved with indignation For your bitter wrongs, And the piteous spectacle of human nature That Taney's mandate presented To the eyes of the world! That, "The black man Has no rights the white man is bound to respect." O! omnipotent And omnipresent God! Who made us in thine own image, Breathing Thine own pure breath Into our dust-created bodies! Giving of thine own life A semblance So great in all its purity so grand in all its fulness, That our humanity can scarce contain it! So, whether our faces be black, or whether They be white, If we but retain thy semblance, And keep within The sacred Cloister of our souls The lamp that thou didst consecrate And gave Into our most solemn keeping To illuminate the fair pages of our lives, And shed Its holy light upon the path That lies along the shimmering moon-beams of the sky, Upon whose silver stair Expectant angels wait; Whose luminous wings enfold us round about, Bearing our happy souls Beyond the sapphire gates To the home From whence we came We are as one to thee! And all the thinking, reasoning nations Of the earth! Once only In the history of this nation, The floor of the senate chamber Dedicated to justice and liberty, Is stained with the blood Of a martyr! He lay helpless and lifeless along that floor, Like an Athenian warrior Slain upon the altar of his country! His grand, proud head Dyed with the crimson tide Of his own life blood! His pale, cold face, and white soundless lips Appealing in their speechless agony To the banner of his country, that hung in starry folds Above his head! The hand that smote him to the earth, Severed the life-chord of his Physical well-being! But, Out of the blood, Out of the turmoil, the warfare and Passionate strivings, Out of the pain and anguish, Out of the ruin and solitude, Out of the great silence that lay upon his life, There rose up A spirit of grandeur With the thews and sinews of Divine wisdom! A grander, nobler, truer manhood Wrought out of the fires Of anguish and pain! A wisdom that has gone its slow, sure round Upon the wheels of time, Calling out of your own nation a full man To sit in the chair Of him who smote your patriot and friend At his post of duty! Out From the ruin wrought By a thoughtless and passionate hand! Sumner, the Christian statesman Arose grander than ever! Daring to speak the truth Having the moral courage to wear it proudly Upon his lips! Flooding its glorious light Upon the actions of his life! Oh ! How we revere The man who speaks the truth! Whose words and actions Call no unhealthy effort to the mind! In winnowing out the one bright grain Of truth From the chaff of shiftless falsehood! The tired brain, weary with analyzing Sought rest in his statements, nor placed them Within its crucible! O, truth! Thou art born of God! On thy fair brow The jeweled crown of purity gleams! Thy garments Are luminous with shimmering star-light O truth! Thou semblance of the living God! What have we not borne, what suffered For thee! Misconception Darkens thy fair features! Misconstruction covers thee with her shadowy mantle! Throwing wide The flood-gates of sorrow That rush from the bitter fountain Of the grieved soul! In thy right hand is a crown Of glory! In thy left A crown of thorns! Truth Is a spirit of glory! A body of transcendent grandeur! Sinewy and tenacious For the human mind to grasp! The nations of the Earth Stand forth to honor A man of truth, And lay their tribute at his feet! Alas! too often After his human ear, Strained to the utmost tension to catch The far off sound, After his throbbing heart! Hungering for human sympathy, thirsting For the cup of love Starving for the kindly hand-grasp, Tired, and worn, and weary, Lays down to die! And The dread Saul's march Thrilling its weird music Above his grave, Is but an echo of dead expectancy and woe! That fall upon our hearts Like the rustling leaves of autumn! Ah! There are human faces Meeting our eyes each day, Which, If they lay cold and still The air would rend with our lamentations And sorrow! And our sad tears would vainly try To wash the lines of care From their dead faces! That fill the haunted chamber of our souls For evermore! Yet! No word of sympathy, No outstretched hand, Bore to their full expectant hearts A token! No kindling glance Of sympathetic brotherhood; Bore to their asking eyes "I have a care of thee!" Thus we go on day after day, wrapping The mantle of selfishness round our humanity! Looking so earthward, The tears of our grieving brother Fall upon our feet! O, have a care that No such sin as this be recorded in Heaven's register To burthen your free souls As ye go upward! When The weary day Lays down her tired head Upon the dreamy pillow of the past, Closing the silent gates of night On her departing foot-falls! Throwing back upon our thrilling senses The curtains of mystery! That float upon the silence and hush Of the night season! Making the soundless air Tremulous with life! 'Tis then, And not till then. Pervaded by a divine restlessness We kneel And loose our earthly shoes from off our feet For the ground whereon we stand Is holy! Alone, With the divine sculptor, Whose unerring chisel, Rounds off the uneven curves and awkward corners Of our erring nature, The heroic statue Is wrought out of roughest marble! So, the good man Is moulded out of his very faults! Thus the great master hand With divine precision Measured the breadth and depth and height Of Sumner! To fill with honor and credit The royal shrine; The grand and noble niche prepared for him In heaven, And in the stirring history Of the world! There are men So utterly narrow-minded, So wanting in moral vertebræ And grand human nature, that they are never greatly Tempted! Satan, With discriminating acumen, seeks higher Prey than these! They are all too flimsy, weak, and crude For his purposes! But, Upon the men of moral breadth, of depths Of human pity; Of height of divine abiding! Some prince Of the sons of the earth, Whom God has chosen For some great epoch in our history, The whole artillery of hell Is brought to bear! Men Tried and trusted of God! Fitted to go down to the arena, "To fight the great fight," from the going down To the rising of the sun! Struggling with some deadly temptation that has Locked him In its sinewy embrace; Or taking some wild passion By the throat, And strangling it out of existence. These, The large-hearted, square-headed, high minded, Men of history, Are his best stock in trade! To these temptation comes! and if they fall, He lashes them to his chariot wheels, And carries them in triumph Into hell! But Sumner, The man of princely integrity, Accepted no defeat, acknowledged no tempter! The lobbyist, Engaged in tunneling under human nature, Fled from before his face! The briber, Whose soft insinuating palm Takes kindly to the hands of his fellow man! He, Who cometh with a smile, And asketh for no receipt! He, Whose loosened purse strings, bind The tender conscience With cords, gripped by the sinewy hand Of Satan, Turns aside to let Sumner pass on; The utterly incorruptible! 'Tis thus, Viewing the great Defender of the constitution surrounded By an atmosphere of bribery and corruption Of men Selling the very sinews of their country For just so many dollars Of bitter enemies, Of unstable friends; Of hurry and rush Of weak legislation; Of "the groans of wounded souls;" Of falsehood and moral contagion That we love him best. For amidst the soulless throng He stood up in his peerless manhood Like a pillar of truth, And carried with him the brightest Stars of the age! 'Twas not in vain He sat, A studious disciple At the royal feet of wisdom! Culling the sweets of knowledge from her tomes! Not in vain Did he visit other lands, and other climes, Filling up The vast storehouses of his mind, With the rarest And richest gems of culture, The grand position he had taken in the great Human family Needed this! He stood like a great tree in the forest, The branches of which stretched out So far As to cover the oppressed ones Of the whole world! Let us all Kindle our aspirations At his shrine! For the loftiest ideas Flow from him! This our modern Solomon who challenged The admiration of the world! Whose wise and pure character Stands out before us to-night As one That fills the void in our highest ideas Of manhood! The light of his example Throws its clear defining ray along The pathway of our lives; Keeping our eye upon that beacon of light We shall not stumble, But fulfill our duties truthfully, manfully, And with a pure heart! His character, In its human and divine greatness, Has a wondrous completeness! Comprehensive In its compact firmness, its grasp of justice. Vital In its rounded purity, its magnanimous Humanity! Subtle In its fine intuitive sympathy!