I have recently had the good fortune to witness a scene, the impressiveness and grandeur of which only those who are unencumbered by the corporeal body, and who are all spirit, all sense, all perception, can fully realize. This scene was the spirit reception, the angelic welcome given to one of life’s noblest heroes, one of the whitest, grandest souls that has ever trod the pathway of mortal existence; and though I cannot hope to convey to earth other than a faint portrayal of the scene, yet I will attempt in this instance to give my readers some idea of the welcome angels give.
After more than the three-score years and ten of earthly existence and experience, William Lloyd Garrison, the friend of the oppressed, the defender of right, the champion of freedom, calmly, quietly, and peacefully laid down the burden of mortality, and rising, grand, majestic, free, a spirit filled with power, passed into the realms of eternal light.
In company with a band of kindred spirits, among whom I may mention my friend Robert Burns, Felicia Hemans, and Elizabeth B. Browning,—noble souls all, who had wept tears of sadness over the oppressed, even while tuning their harps to sweeter melody for freedom’s sake,—I was privileged to witness a spirit reception given to this ascended hero; not the greeting given by the nearest and dearest of the heart, that was too sacred for even the eyes of sympathizing spirit friends, who had no claim upon his love, but the meeting of kindred souls, who had trod the same paths of truth, waded the same seas of opposition and danger, and borne the same battle-flag of freedom on to victory.
Not alone was the spirit of William Lloyd Garrison surrounded by departed friends of his own country; not alone were his hands pressed by such moral heroes as Washington, Adams, Lincoln, Andrew, Sumner, and many more noble souls, men and women of his own country; but there were Lafayette, Lamartine, Wilberforce, Wilcoxson, George Thompson, Harriet Martineau, and countless others, assembled to give their brother greeting. Indeed, all the great reformers of every age and clime, whose souls now watch from the battlements of heaven the advancement of liberty and truth on earth, and who still have a hand in shaping the events of interest to humanity, were gathered to give our friend and the friend of every man—though the foe to all tyranny, persecution, and slavery—a perfect ovation, expressed through love, sympathy, and blessings. But the most beautiful was the sight of John Brown, brave old Ossawottamie, whose soul continues to march on, and Charles Sumner, whose spirit still toils for a recognition of the equality of all before the law, seated at the feet of Mr. Garrison, and looking up to him as to some beloved teacher and guide.
Confined by no limits, unrestrained by the confines of walls and barriers; out in the clear and pleasant sunshine, fanned by the balmy breeze, refreshed through every avenue of sense by the perfume of flowers, the gleam of waters, and the songs of birds, the very poetry of expression, the nectar of loving sympathy gushed from the fountain of each soul, and formed a sea of light which glorified the soul of him who felt its genial, life-imparting flow. You who are in sympathy with great minds, in harmony with all souls earnest for the emancipation of humanity from whatever enthralls and keeps it down, can conceive faintly at best of the grandeur, the beauty, and the joy of such a meeting; countless numbers of gifted, noble souls assembled to give welcome, and to pay tribute to one beloved apostle of truth. No pen, no tongue can do the subject justice.
Outside of the circle of light formed by this celestial company, awed by its brilliancy, surprised by its glory, debarred from enjoying its feast of soul communion because of the remorseless memories within them, I observed a number of faces, faces stamped with the signet of genius as well as intellect, but bearing the impress of infidelity to truth; faces belonging to gifted but ignoble spirits who, when upon earth, stood in high places and publicly denounced the spirits of liberty, of toleration and justice. Today they are repenting for the life spent in ambitious desires.
But this is not all. Coming up from every direction, together and in great numbers, I observed spirits approaching, from the tiny, tottling child to the aged grandsire, singing songs of welcome as they came, the celestial melody of which echoed and re-echoed throughout the spheres, producing a perfect flood of heavenly sweetness that thrilled the soul with ecstasy.
It was a song of gratitude, a mighty pæan of praise, a universal strain of blessing for deliverance; and as it gathered power and rolled on in musical splendor, the sweetness of its tones, the beauty of its expressions, the grandeur of its inspiration clustered and fell in a cascade of divine harmony over and around the soul of him enthroned in our midst, the object of our gathering, the central glory of our galaxy, Wm. Lloyd Garrison.
On, on they came, bearing branches of green and waving palms; garlands of beautiful and odorous blossoms, a profusion of snowy-white lilies, and clusters of royal roses, to strew before his spirit feet.
But sweeter than all other gifts, and dearer far to him who beheld and received them, were the smiles of affection, the tears of gratitude, the whispered blessings showered upon him by these new-comers, the vanguard of this hero; they who were once poor and depressed, scorned, uneducated, and despised, the slaves of tyranny, and used as beasts of burden, but who are now cultured, honored, free!—toilers for the redemption of souls from bondage.