Oration on Charles Sumner, Addressed to Colored People

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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!