A VIEW OF AMERICA’S FUTURE.
By Henrietta Reams
WHILE I was on my knees in prayer not long since, I saw a strange and awful picture, which I will try to describe to the readers of the SIGNS; for I believe it has a meaning of profound interest to every citizen of our republic. There rose up in my spiritual sight a great and mighty tree. Its growth was almost incredible, and its development most marvelous. It spread west, north, and south till its branches reached from ocean to ocean, and, like the tree of Nebuchadnezzar’s vision, “in it there was meat for all;” and the very sap, from its superabundance of life, seemed to play in delightsome fountains through the branches. In and among the branches of the tree flitted, strolled, or rode in their gay carriages, the beauty, wealth, wit, and culture of the nation. All the modern luxuries and elegances of life, all the marvelous inventions of the age, were at their command. All the treasures of art were poured out, as it were, into their laps, and the ecstatic whirl of society was like a ceaseless “merry-go-round” of pleasure. I heard the crashing harmonies of grand bands and orchestras, and voices of music in their most exquisite interpretations of the old masters. I heard the thunder of cannon—the pride of her strength—and a cheer like the voice of a great multitude—the rushing of mighty seas—the shout of a nation, when the colors, the emblem of its glory, are displayed. But now comes the sad and dark part of the picture. I saw at the foot of the tree the toilers, whose labor nourished and prospered the life and growth of the tree. How they delved in cold and heat, till the sweat seemed like great drops of blood falling down to the ground in the very agony of their life-struggle! I saw that when they came to the tree for their share of the fruitage, they were pressed down, and given a few fragments—a mere nothing—for their labor, till their cheeks were hollow with want, and they took to gnawing the bark, that they might get the sap as it flowed up into the tree. O, what a sight! They groaned and howled; they crowded and jostled each other in their mad efforts to secure a place to gnaw. Mothers held their starving little ones high in the air, but they could not reach the fruit. The unearthly cry of that heaving multitude was as the cry of a ravenous wild beast. I shall never, never forget it. O Lord God, just and holy, Thou righteous Judge of this earth, how long, O, how long shall the wicked triumph? A few wind-falls were let fall among the crowd to pacify them, but it only maddened them. But soon I saw a change come over the surging throng. They ceased their fruitless struggle, and every brow grew dark. Muttered imprecations and curses were ground out between clenched teeth. All faces gathered blackness, as some fell purpose seemed revolving and forming itself in the chaos of despair. It was like the ominous hush and silence when a terrible storm is brooding and gathering to burst in fury on the earth. Certain ones, who seemed to be leaders, stood up above the multitude, and thus harangued the people: “The time is come. We will not gnaw bark, nor suck sap. We will eat fruit, which is rightfully ours. Down with the cut-throats! They have bled us at every vein. They bathe in the oil and the wine of our labors, while we starve for bread. We need no longer hope for redress at their hands. Have we not tried to elect men who would care for the rights of the laborer? But their money bought them, or if they failed to buy them, they were defeated. Hope no more. We have eaten bitter bread and drank gall from their hands. It has curdled in our veins, and vengeance alone will sweeten that cup, or satisfy our thirst. Now is the time. The power lies in our hand. Give them their reward. Follow me.” Then such a yell rose from that crowd as I never heard from human throats. It was the yell of a hungry, wounded, infuriated beast. And, look, they are climbing the tree. They have made a ladder of the dead bodies of fallen comrades, and the leaders mount up over them. The mob follows. See, they tear down the branches. They scatter and trample, snatching and eating as they go. They scatter firebrands. Bombs are bursting on every side. The capital rocks and goes down in a terrific explosion. Their trail is marked, like the wake of Samson’s foxes, with conflagration, devastation, and ruin; and the cries of terror and wo on every side are commingled in one continuous, awful shriek. Look, look! The whole structure goes up in mighty conflagration. Wo, wo, to the republic! Her rich and proud ones are slain in every street. Her dainty and delicate women are ravished in every mansion, and their little ones are dashed against the stones of them. O rich and fair republic, glorious in beauty,596high in worldly honor, and secure in the pride of thy power, did not the Lord God tell thee that thy pains should come upon thee “as pains upon a woman in travail”? Were you not warned that that hungry thing, gnawing and tearing at thy vitals, would turn and “bite thee”? Thou hast brewed thy hands in thy brother’s blood, and the avenger hath found thee. And yet I will mourn for thy beauty departed, O glorious republic! Liberty, purity, equality, and fraternity were thy corner-stones. And when they were laid in the heat and smoke of a great Revolution, a world beheld and cheered and wondered. Wonderful was thy growth and development from thine almost inexhaustible resources. “Thou wert perfect in all thy ways until iniquity was found in thee.” The great Physician desired to heal thee, and sent His servants with messages of warning and love, but ye cast them out and drove them from thy face, and set a “mark” on all thy worshipers, that ye might separate His servants unto persecution and death. But God hath fulfilled His word in thee, and thy light hath gone out in the darkness of death. Yet I will mourn for thee over the ashes of thy ruin and humiliation, because ye believed not God, and “knewest not the time of thy visitation.”