What's hallowed ground? | where, mourned and | missed,| The lips re- | pose our | love has | kissed, | But where's their | memory's | mansion? || Is't Yon church-yard's | bowers? |71 No! in our | selves their | souls ex- | ist, | A part of ours. |17| A kiss can consecrate the | ground! Is hallowed down to | earth's pro- | found, | And up to heaven! | What hallows ground where | heroes | sleep? 71 'Tis not the sculptured | piles you | heap: || In dews that | heavens | far- | distant | weep, Their turf may | bloom; | Or genii | twine be- | neath the | deep | Their coral | tomb. || But strew his | ashes to the | wind, Whose sword or voice has saved man- | kind And is he dead, whose | glorious | mind | Lifts thine on | high? | To live in hearts we | leave be- | hind, | Is't death to fall for | freedom's | right? 1 And murder | sullies in | heaven's | sight, | The sword he draws: 71 What can alone en- | noble | fight? | | A noble cause. I Give that: | and | welcome | war to | brace Her drums! | and | rend | heaven's | reeking | space! | The charging | cheer, | The colors planted | face to face, Though | death's | pale | horse | lead on the | chase, Shall still be | dear. 1771771 What's hallowed | ground? 'Tis | what gives | birth To sacred thoughts in | souls of | worth! Earth's compass | round; | 71 go | forth | And your high | priesthood | shall make | earth | All hallowed ground! || CAMPBELL. WHAT HAVE WE TO DO WITH SLAVERY? | DOES | any one | ask |at| this late | day, | when the | giant | wrong, which our fights for, threatens to strip us butes of freedom and hu- | manity, | What have we to do country | legalizes and | of the dearest | attri does | any one | ask, with the in- | justice that ex- | ists, not here, | but in an- | other | part of the | land? | ❘ | just lery. prejudices, | more | fatal than | muskets or ar- | tilWe have | no | right to sur- | render to it the | sacred principle of | freedom of speech as we have done. We have | no | right to af- | ford it the | broad pro- | tection of our silence, as we do. We have no | right to allow it to | flourish in the | capital of the | nation, as we do. We have | no | right to | aid in ex- | tending, and per- petuating, and | fighting for it, as, may | with | things with inter- | fering, | most im- | pertinently, | which we have no | right to inter- | fere. | | We must son may be, | turn over a | new | leaf, | and | learn, | hard as the | les| to mind | every one his | own | business. | And what is our | business? Why, to do | | | justly. |17| It is what | God | specially re- | quires of 1 us, to cease from doing | evil; to main- | tain freedom of speech, || that | precious | thing, |◄ with- | out which our civil se- | curity | is but | stubble, which the out- | bursting | fires of | violent | passions | may, at | any moment, con- | sume; to guard the public | liberties in the person of the meanest of the | land; to de- | stroy in- | justice of | all kinds, | and | let the voice of hu- | manity, the swelling | key-note of the | world, |be| heard, | pleading for the | right. | ◄ | This is the | business, || this the | just | thing which we | have to do, | every | man and woman of us, | and of | which, | as | surely as we are | here this | day, | we must give an ac- count. I caution you, | 0 | | | men, as you would pos- | sess the | good which | God hath showed you and | do what | he re- quires, care how you | meddle any | longer, | or | countenance | who hold men and I bought and sold. | take with the in- | alienable | rights of | That is inter- | ference with other with | which | they are | chargeable | women as their property to be It is an insult to our common hu- | manity. | It | | 1 must come to an end, and it | will; let the blood of the nation be petuate it. poured out | ever so | freely to perFor | God hath | showed thee, | 0 | man, │ what is good, and what does | he re- quire of us, but that we do | justly? | He has | written it in our | hearts, and his | providence is | bringing | out the divine | hand-writing | in | ever | clearer and | more | flaming | characters, un- | til it shall | flash con- | viction on the | darkest | mind. 'Twill murmur | on a | thousand | years, | And flow as | now it | flows. And here, on this de- | lightful | day, | I cannot choose but | think | How | oft, | a | vigorous | man, I | lay Be- | side this | fountain | brink. My eyes are | dim with | childish | tears, My heart is idly | stirred, | For the same sound is in my | ears, | Which in those days I | heard. || |