Will the mists ever clear away from men’s eyes, so that they can recognize Wrong on the throne and Right hanging by the neck on the scaffold erected by the willing tools of Wrong? Will they? I very much doubt it. The world’s history has been written by the sword of the tyrant, dipped in the blood of the many victims who died for the cause of human liberty, and the sleeping world has been made to believe that it was all done in the name of religion. Does God care? Go to the graves of the millions slain by Wrong; go to the stake where the thousands were burned and left their ashes to cry to high heaven for human liberty; go to the prison dungeons where the thousands of martyrs wasted their lives and died in filth and misery—and ask there if God cares that this monster, Wrong, shall longer rule the destinies of men. I cannot see a single ray of hope. These insects we call men, are brutal as the beasts of the field. They glory in bloodshed. THE VOICES WE UNDERSTAND Even child life is full of tragedy. In their helplessness they stand in the way of advancing events, a mother or a father taken away while yet they need their helping hand, and often the mother is stricken down while the child has no other means of existence but the milk that flowed from the maternal breast of the dead woman. If this is by design, who can justify the designer while looking through the orphan’s tears? No, the designer of all these heartaches and sorrows does not ask to be justified by those who suffer most. The same God who created conditions that give pain to his creatures, also gave the suffering creature voice to protest and cry out against the treatment they receive. Tears and sobs are also a protest against the pangs of sorrow and pain. Yes, tragedy is forced into each life at the hour of birth. Show me a child a year old, and I can write of its history in a way to bring tears to your eyes, and to my own. Its little tiny wail at the hour of birth is a protest against the pains of the world, and only when it sleeps does instinct cease to cry out for mercy and assistance. For this is a cruel world to be born into. Nature has provided a thousand sources of torture to direct the child mind into choosing the proper way through life. God does not temper the hot stove to the tender hand of a child, and when one falls into the fire Nature does not halt to pull it out and pour a soothing balm upon the blisters. No, Nature moves on as unrelentingly as the cogs of two great wheels in a mill crushing all that falls between the meshing cogs.