es upon their lips--if Presbyterianism be true, God had a constable
ready there to clutch that soul and thrust it down to eternal hell.
Tidings of great joy. And yet this is religion. Why, if that doctrine
be true, every soldier in the Revolutionary War who died not a
Christian has been damned; every one in the War of 1812, who kept our
flag upon the sea, if he died not a Christian has been damned; and
every one in the Civil War who fought to keep our flag in heaven, not a
Christian, and the ones who died in Andersonville and Libby, not
Christians, are now in the prison of God, where the famine of
Andersonville and Libby would be regarded as a joy. Orthodox
Christianity! Why, we have an account in the bible--it comes from the
other world--from both countries--from heaven and from hell--let us see
what it is. Here is a rich man who dies. The only fault about him
was, he was rich; no other crime was charged against him. We are told
that the rich man died, and when he lifted up his eyes he found no
sympathy, yet even in hell he remembered his five brethren, and prayed
that some one should be sent to them so that they should not come
there. I tell you I had rather be in hell with human sympathy than in
heaven without it.

The bible is not inspired, and ministers know nothing about another
world. They don't know. I am satisfied there is no world of eternal
pain. If there is a world of joy, so much the better. I have never
put out the faintest star of human hope that ever trembled in the night
of life. There was a time when I was not; after that I was; now I am.
And it is just as probable that I will live again as it was that I
could have lived before I did. Let it go. Ah! but what will life be?
The world will be here. Men and women will be here. The page of
history will be open. The walls of the world will be adorned with art,
the niches with sculpture; music will be here, and all there is of life
and joy. And there will be homes here, and the fireside, and there
will be a common hope without a common fear. Love will be here, and
love is the only bow on life's dark cloud. Love was the first to dream
of immortality. Love is the morning and evening star. It shines upon
the child; it sheds its radiance upon the peaceful tomb. Love is the
mother of beauty--the mother of melody, for music is its voice. Love
is the builder of every hope, the kindler of every fire on every
hearth. Love is the enchanter, the mag