An address delivered before the Southern Reform Medical Association at their annual meeting in Macon, March 2, 1858 / by O.A. Lochrane.

  • Lochrane, O. A. (Osborne Augustus), 1829-1887.
Date:
1858
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: An address delivered before the Southern Reform Medical Association at their annual meeting in Macon, March 2, 1858 / by O.A. Lochrane. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by the National Library of Medicine (U.S.), through the Medical Heritage Library. The original may be consulted at the National Library of Medicine (U.S.)

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    IL time, beaconing other nations the road to freedom and independence. hang clustering on it like white flowers upon the sky. God's hand festoons the cloud-draped arch in which it floats. Who were the men that steered the storm-tossed bark freighted with freedom, upon the mountain waves of the revolution ? Who were the men that gave to the world a declaration of human rights, second only to the Deca- logue ? They were Reformers. They were men who snapped asun- der the ties of antiquated dogmas and follies—scattered them to the dust, and became pioneers on the great highway of civilization. They were men who thought for themselves, and spurned the pestilence of authority. My heart kindles with fire, and my soul swells within me, when I see the great procession of Reformers pass before my eyes. I see Washington leading the great column of national Reformers. Beside him walk the illustrious Montgomery, Kosciusko, Pulaski, Tell, La- fayette, Hofer, and an army of martyrs, their spirits garlanded with the light of immortality. The procession passes on where On Fame's eternal camping ground Their silent tents arc spread, And glory keeps eternal watch, Kound the Bivouack of the dead. Before my mind comes gathering another procession, a thousand ban- ners wave above them, a thousand mottos gleam in the dazzling glory that haloes them. There is one, whose hand has planted many a flower upon the fields of Literature. He carries the pen through which his thoughts were flashed down the columns of the world. There is one who tore the Bible from the embrace of ignorance, to scatter its hopes and promises among the untold millions of mankind. He set like a great Sun into the grave, but left behind a light that still lingers upon the world, and makes the very clouds of death pink and rosy with the hue3 of hope and heaven. There is one who raised woman in the scale of civilization, to which her gentleness, beauty, and purity commended her. Methinkshis lips still utter He is a parricide to his mother's name. And with an impious hand murders her fame, That wrongs the praise of woman—that dares write Libels on saints, or with foul ink requite The milk they lent us ! Better sex, command To your defence my more religious hand At sword or pen ! four's was the nobler birth, For you of man were made—man but of earth, The son of dust! And as my eye wanders o'er the bright array, it is arrested by one