"OVER THERE."

Freethought Review, Volume I, Issue 7, 1 April 1884, Page 12

"OVER THERE."

THE MYTH AND THE REALITY. “Tis true, ’tis pity, and pity ’tis, ’tis true,” but it is so nevertheless, that the beautiful creations of the poet’s brain are nearly always' at variance with the teachings of reason and of fadl. And yet in our daily intercourse we may pbserve the constant influence of the poetic craze on the lives and adlions of those who we might suppose were beyond the pale of such influence. How little of poetry enters into the visible life of the English agricultural labourer, or of any of the toilers of his class in town or country. Nevertheless there are thousands who fondly believe that “ There is a land that is better than this ” “ Where the poor man’s as great Though he hath no estate As he that’s a thousand a year.” A delusion which the priests of all denominations have studiously endeavoured to keep up, in order that those on whom they preyed might be content to toil for the drones and parasites of society. As long as the poor can be persuaded to turn their eyes from the good things of this life, in the earnest hope ofobtaining white robes and golden harps in the “ sweet by and bye,” Priestcraft and Kingcraft may be tolerably safe. It sounds so beautiful to sing : “ Oh, think of the home over there By the side of the river of light, Where the saints all immortal and fair Are robed in their garments of white. Over there, over there, oh, think of the homes over there.” But when we turn our attention to the homes by the side of some other rivers, of whose geographical position we are rather more certain, a “ bitter cry ” goes up, the shrill tones of which would crack the strings of all the harps in every poet’s heaven. The civilised world has too long been turning its attention to “ realms beyond the skies,” and neglecting the only true source of human happiness, viz—a scientific knowledge of the laws of our being. The results of theological teaching are patent to us all, and “while we have been dreaming that the millenium was coming,” we have slumbered on the brittle crust of a seething volcano. It has been for many years my firm opinion, that the violent contrasts presented in all the great centres of—so-called—civilisation between enormous wealth and abjedt misery, would sooner or later produce such an eruption in the social and political world, parallels to which might only be found in the physical world in the destruction of Herculaneum and Pompeii, or the recent disasters in the Straits of Sunda. The persistent and self-sacrificing struggles of the Russian Nihilist, and the horrible and indiscriminate savagery of the Irish Dynamitists, revolting as they must be to the vast majority of Society, are proofs of the fire that smoulders beneath the smiling surface of modern life. Not only in the old cities of Europe, but in those also of the American Republic, is the gulph between rich and poor growing wider. “ Land, labor, and capital ” are doubtless the necessary elements of material progress, but when land and capital are arrayed against labour, instead of working with it and ministering to its necessities, the result can be nothing but evil; and the existence and development of that evil is daily becoming more apparent. Priestcraft and superstition are closely allied with the murderous cruelties of Fenians, Land leaguers, Nihilists et hoc genus omne. It is the duty of Freethinkers to do their utmost in disseminating a knowledge of truth, and to endeavor to guide the vast changes now going on, and yet to be, by a mild but firm intelligence. In the mean-time we can THINK OF THE HOMES OVER THERE. Oil, think of the homes in the street At the back of that mansion so bright, Where the children of misery meet To skulk in the darkness of night. In that slum over there. Oh, think of the homes over there ! Oh, think of the men over there, Of the women and children who sob In hunger, disease, and despair, "Who go forth but to beg or to rob From that street over there. Oh, think of the homes over there !

Oh, think of the poor over there, Those victims of squalor and gin How much of God’s love do they share ? Has Christ ever saved them from sin In that slum over there ? Oh, think of the dens over there ! Avaunt ye false prophets, who rave OFa powerful, merciful god ! His hand is unable to save, His altars are deluged with blood Everywhere, over there. Oh, think of his dupe over there ! From ignorance, sorrow, and crime The poor and down-trodden to save, Shall be the great work of our time Till Tyrany owns not a slave Anywhere, over there. Oh work for the poor over there. Charles J. Rae. February 28th, 1884.