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Resolved, That in our judgment, he was an intelligent, talented, upright, noble-hearted man; a sincere and consistent Christian ; an able, independent, and faithful minister of the gospel; a bold, uncompromising enemy of oppression in all its forms; a self-sacrificing friend and defender of civil and religious liberty, of truth and righteousness, whose name and whose virtues deserve to be embalmed in the memory of every friend of God and man.”

A work, containing his life, letters, poems, and a history of the riots, was published by his brothers, in 1838, and from the introduction to it, written by the Hon. John Quincy Adams, we make the following extract:

“ That an American citizen, in a State whose Constitution repudiates all Slavery, should die a martyr in defence of the freedom of the press, is a phenomenon in the history of this Union. It forms an era, in the progress of mankind towards universal emancipation. Martyrdom was said by Dr. Johnson, to be the only test of sincerity in religious belief. It is also the ordeal through which all great improvements in the condition of men, are doomed to pass. The incidents which preceded and accompanied, and followed the catastrophe of Mr. Lovejoy's death, point it out as an epoch in the annals of human liberty. They have given a shock as of an earthquake, throughout this continent, which will be felt in the most distant regions of the earth. They have inspired an interest in the public mind, which extends already to the life and character of the sufferer, and which it is believed will abide while ages pass away. To record and preserve for posterity, the most interesting occurrences of his life, has been considered an obligation of duty, specially incumbent upon the surviving members of his family, and in the effusions of his own mind, and the characteristic features of his familiar correspondence, the reader will find the most effective portraiture of the first American Martyr to the freedom of the press, and the freedom of the slave."





Who has not felt, when life's dull stream was low,
When hope had fled, and pleasure waned to wo;
When all within was dreary, dark, and wild —
On feeling's ruins sat despair, and smiled —
And like the shadows by the moonbeams thrown
On chilly waters, faint and cold it shone;
Who has not felt the melting charm that stole
Like healing virtue o'er the stricken soul,
When some fair hand the trembling lyre had swept,
And waked the Muse, that lingered there and slept;
Her magic charms, her tones so sweetly given,
They tell like dreams which Gabriel brings from heaven,
And, on the cold, cold regions of the breast,
Come warm with life in visions of the blest.
The frozen heart which never felt before,
Dissolves in grief and smiles its mis’ry o'er,
And as it weeps the obscuring clouds away,
Hope gilds the tear with sunshine's softest ray;
Peace o'er the tempest throws its rainbow charms,
Sure pledge of joy, yet timid from alarms:
The enchanting prospect opens wide and clear,
When Beauty blushes where the loves appear !
O who that has not proudly counted o'er
Such hours enshrined in Mem’ry's choicest store,
When, as the dream of life was flitting by,
They flashed in Brightness on the suff'rer's eye ;

And left their marks transcribed upon his soul,
Unsullied pages in life's gloomy scroll:
Gently they spoke in silver notes of bliss,
As if heav'n stooped to whisper words of peace.
So can the Muse enchant the yielding heart,
New hopes, new pleasures, and new joys impart;
When meek and mild, she comes in tenderness,
To sooth our sorrows, and our comforts bless,
And smiles as love smiles o'er the bed of death,
Or bends like hope to catch the parting breath ;
But if, with all her gorgeous drap’ry on,
She strikes the note that glory rides upon —
With hues of grandeur deep around her thrown,
And stately mien that Virtue's self might own-
'Tis then she kindles in th’ expanding soul
Desires immortal, thoughts above control.
She chants her death-song o'er the hero's grave,
Each arm is mighty and each coward brave;
And when the untamed victor of the fight,
Prepared to use the vengeance of his might,
Witness, Euripides, and Homer, thou,
How oft her strains have smoothed the angry brow;
Loosed from his hands the pris'ner's slavish chain,
And bade the captive be a man again.
She strikes the chords that round her heart entwine,
And warm responses breathe on ev'ry line.
The mind, awakened by the burning strain,
Starts in a flight which seraphs scarce can gain :
Bursts from its mortal shroud and soars away,
And basks and revels in unclouded day;
Leaves earth's dull scenes with all its cares and woes,
Mounts into light, and kindles as it goes !

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