... Racks and
fagots soon waft the soul to God, stern messengers, but swift. A boy
could bear that passage,--the martyrdom of death. But the temptation of
a long life of neglect, and scorn, and obloquy, and shame, and want, and
desertion by false friends; to live blameless though blamed, cut off
from human sympathy, that is the martyrdom of to-day. I shed no tears
for such martyrs. I shout when I see one; I take courage and thank God
for the real saints, prophets and heroes of to-day.... Yea, though now
men would steal the rusty sword from underneath the bones of a saint or
hero long deceased, to smite off therewith the head of a new prophet,
that ancient hero's son; though they would gladly crush the heart out of
him with the tombstones they piled up for great men, dead and honored
now; yet in some future day, that mob penitent, baptized with a new
spirit, like drunken men returned to sanity once more, shall search
through all this land for marble white enough to build a monument to
that prophet whom their fathers slew; they shall seek through all the
world for gold of fineness fit to chronicle such names. I cannot wait;
but I will honor such men now, not adjourn the warning of their voice,
and the glory of their example, till another age! The church may cast
out such men; burn them with the torments of an age too refined in its
cruelty to use coarse fagots and the vulgar axe! It is no loss to these
men; but the ruin of the church.
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