Beadle's Dime National Speaker, Embodying Gems of Oratory and Wit, Particularly Adapted to American Schools and Firesides

We hear much of the higher law; and the application of the phrase to civil affairs has excited great prejudice and given great offense. But, what is the higher law? It is said to be something higher than the Constitution of the United States. Can there be a law, within these United higher than the Constitution of the United States? If there can be and is such a law – what is it? I need not and will not recite inferior, questionable, and inappropriate answers here. But, is there not one unquestionable answer? Suppose it be said, that, in relation to all subjects to which it was designed to apply, and properly does apply, the Bible is a higher Law than the Constitution of the United States? Will any man, unless an utter infidel, deny this? Surely not. Waiving its practical operations, certainly, as an abstract proposition, this must be admitted as true. It may be extended, so as to include all our State constitutions, and all our Church constitutions, and all our more Social constitutions. Put them all together, magnify and boast of them as we may, not only is the Bible a higher law, but it is an infinitely higher law. For thus saith the Lord: "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." Therefore, also, the universal and perpetual prophetic challenge: "Oh, earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the Lord!"

All human constitutions, social, ecclesiastical, and civil, are changeable, and contain provisions for change; but, the Bible is unchangeable. Instead of any provision for change, it is guarded, at all points, against change. The writer of its first five books declares in the last of the five: "Ye shall not add unto the word which I command you, neither shall ye diminish from it, that ye may keep the commandments of the Lord your God, which I command you." And, in like manner, the author of its last five books, declares in the last of the five: "If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book: and if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book." And so Isaiah, standing midway between Moses and John, exclaims: "Lift up your eyes to the heavens, and look upon the earth beneath; for the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment, and they that dwell therein shall die in like manner; but My salvation shall be forever, and My righteousness shall not be abolished." Therefore, it is only in accordance with the testimony of all His witnesses, that Christ Himself avers: "Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill. For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled. Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My words shall not pass away."

THE ONE GREAT NEED. – Ibid

Tell me, oh, tell me, what is it we need? Do we need health, or genius, or learning, or eloquence, or pleasure, or fame, or power? Do we need wealth, or rank, or office? Does any one of us need to be chaplain, or clerk, or representative, or senator, or speaker, or vice-president? an officer of the army or navy? a member or head of any department? a foreign minister? a cabinet officer? or even a successor in the line of presidents of the United States? Is such our need? Ah, no! we need salvation.

What did I say in the beginning? Did I not say we need elevation? as men, Americans, and Christians, we need elevation: in our persons and families, states and churches, we need elevation. Certainly I did thus speak, and meant all I said.

Oh, my Friends! All the distinctions alluded to such as we know them here, are comparatively little things. Greater things are in prospect; but these things, though they seem great, are really little. Pause, think, recall what life has taught you – what observation and experience have combined to impress most deeply upon your consciousness – and begin your review with the sad words, after all! After all, health is a little thing, and genius is a little thing, and learning, and eloquence, and pleasure, and fame, and power, and wealth, and rank, and office, all earthly things are little things. How little satisfaction they yield while they last, and how soon they pass away!

THE SHIP AND THE BIRD. – Owen Meredith

Hear a song that was born in the land of my birth!
The anchors are lifted, the fair ship is free,
And the shout of the mariners floats in its mirth
'Twixt the light in the sky and the light on the sea.

And this ship is a world. She is freighted with souls,
She is freighted with merchandise; proudly she sails
With the Labor that stores, and the Will that controls
The gold in the ingots, the silk in the bales.

From the gardens of Pleasure, where reddens the rose,
And the scent of the cedar is faint on the air,
Past the harbors of Traffic, sublimely she goes,
Man's hopes o'er the world of the waters to bear!

Where the cheer from the harbors of Traffic is heard,
Where the gardens of Pleasure fade fast on the sight,
O'er the rose, o'er the cedar, there passes a bird;
'Tis the Paradise Bird, never known to alight.

And that bird, bright and bold as a poet's desire,
Roams her own native heavens, the realms of her birth,
There she soars like a seraph, she shines like a fire,
And her plumage hath never been sullied by earth.

And the mariners greet her; there's song on each lip,
For the bird of good omen, and joy in each eye,
And the ship and the bird, and the bird and the ship,
Together go forth over ocean and sky.

Fast, fast fades the land! far the rose-gardens flee,
And far fleet the harbors. In regions unknown
The ship is alone on a desert of sea,
And the bird in a desert of sky is alone.

In those regions unknown, o'er that desert of air,
Down that desert of waters – tremendous in wrath —
The storm-wind Euroclydon leaps from his lair,
And cleaves through the waves of the ocean, his path.

And the bird in the cloud, and the ship on the wave.
Overtaken, are beaten about by wild gales,
And the mariners all rush their cargo to save,
Of the gold in the ingots, the silk in the bales.

Lo! a wonder which never before hath been heard
For it never before hath been given to sight;
On the ship hath descended the Paradise Bird,
The Paradise Bird never known to alight!

The bird which the mariners bless'd, when each lip
Had a song for the omen which gladden'd each eye,
The bright bird for shelter hath flown to the ship
From the wrath on the sea and the wrath in the sky.

But the mariners heed not the bird any more,
They are felling the masts – they are furling the sails,
Some are working, some weeping, and some wrangling o'er
Their gold in the ingots, their silk in the bales.

Souls of men are on board; wealth of man in the hold;
And the storm-wind Euroclydon sweeps to his prey;
And who heeds the bird? "Save the silk and the gold!"
And the bird from her shelter the gust sweeps away!

Poor Paradise Bird! on her lone flight once more
Back again in the wake of the wind she is driven —
To be whelm'd in the storm, or above it to soar,
And, if rescued from ocean, to vanish in heaven!

And the ship rides the waters, and weathers the gales:
From the haven she nears the rejoicing is heard.
All hands are at work on the ingots, the bales,
Save a child, sitting lonely, who misses – the Bird!

TECUMSEH'S SPEECH TO THE CREEK WARRIORS – Clairborn's Life of Gen. Dale

In defiance of the white warriors of Ohio and Kentucky, I have traveled through their settlements, once our favorite hunting-grounds. No war-whoop was sounded, but there is blood on our knives. The pale faces felt the blow, but knew not whence it came.

Accursed be the race that has seized on our country and made women of our warriors. Our fathers, from their tombs, reproach us as slaves and cowards. I hear them now in the wailing winds.

The Muscogee was once a mighty people. The Georgians trembled at our war-whoop, and the maidens of my tribe, in the distant lakes, sung the prowess of your warriors, and sighed for their embraces.

Now, your very blood is white, your tomahawks have no edge, your bows and arrows were buried with your fathers. O Muscogees! brethren of my mother, brush from your eyelids the sleep of slavery; once more strike for vengeance – once more for your country! The spirits of the mighty dead complain. The tears drop from the weeping skies. Let the white race perish!

They seize your land; they corrupt your women; they trample on the ashes of your dead!