forth from his Throne of Light, to consecrate the flag of freedom--to bless
the patriot's sword! Be it in the defense, or be it in the assertion of a
people's liberty, I hail the sword as a sacred weapon; and if, my Lord, it
has sometimes taken the shape of the serpent and reddened the shroud of
the oppressor with too deep a dye, like the anointed rod of the High
Priest, it has at other times, and as often, blossomed into celestial
flowers to deck the freeman's brow.

Abhor the sword--stigmatize the sword? No, my Lord, for, in the passes of
the Tyrol, it cut to pieces the banner of the Bavarian, and, through those
cragged passes, struck a path to fame for the present insurrectionist of
Inspruck!

Abhor the sword--stigmatize the sword? No, my Lord; for at its blow, a
giant nation started from the waters of the Atlantic, and by its redeeming
magic, and in the quivering of its crimson light, the crippled Colony
sprang into the attitude of a proud Republic--prosperous, limitless, and
invincible!

Abhor the sword--stigmatize the sword? No, my Lord; for it swept the Dutch
marauders out of the fine old towns of Belgium--scourged them back to their
own phlegmatic swamps--and knocked their flag and scepter, their laws and
bayonets into the sluggish waters of the Scheldt.

My Lord, I learned that it was the right of a nation to govern herself--not
in this hall, but upon the ramparts of Antwerp. This, the first article of
a nation's creed, I learned upon those ramparts, where freedom was justly
estimated, and the possession of the precious gift was purchased by the
effusion of generous blood.