Revised from Secret Destiny of America
President
Reagan retold this story in his essay, What
July 4th Means to Me (Parade Magazine, June 1981)
On July 4, 1776, in the old State
House in Philadelphia
There were several speeches. Jefferson expressed himself with great vigor; and John
Adams, spoke and with great strength. Dr. Benjamin Franklin, quiet and calm as
usual, spoke his mind with well-chosen words. The delegates hovered between
sympathy and uncertainty as the long hours of the summer day crept by, for life
is sweet when there is danger of losing it. The lower doors were locked and a
guard was posted to prevent interruption.
According to Jefferson ,
it was late in the afternoon before the delegates gathered their courage to the
sticking point. The talk was about axes, scaffolds, and the gibbet, when
suddenly a strong, bold voice sounded:
"Gibbet! They may stretch
our necks on all the gibbets in the land; they may turn every rock into a
scaffold; every tree into a gallows; every hole into a grave, and yet the words
of that parchment can never die! They may pour our blood on a thousand
scaffolds, and yet from every drop that dyes the axe a new champion of freedom
will spring into birth! The British King may blot out the stars of God from the
sky, but he cannot blot out His words written on that parchment there. The
works of God may perish: His words never!
"The words of this
declaration will live in the world long after our bones are dust. To the
mechanic in his workshop they will speak hope: to the slave in the mines
freedom: but to the coward kings, these words will speak in tones of warning
they cannot choose but hear...
"Sign that parchment!
Sign, if the next moment the gibbet's rope is about your neck! Sign, if the
next minute this hall rings with the clash of falling axes! Sign, by all your
hopes in life or death, as men, as husbands, as fathers, brothers, sign your
names to the parchment, or be accursed forever! Sign, and not only for
yourselves, but for all ages, for that parchment will be the textbook of
freedom, the bible of the rights of man forever.
"Nay, do not start and
whisper with surprise! It is truth; your own hearts witness it: God proclaims
it. Look at this strange band of exiles and outcasts, suddenly transformed into
a people; a handful of men, weak in arms, but mighty in God-like faith; nay,
look at your recent achievements, your Bunker Hill, your Lexington ,
and then tell me, if you can, that God has not given America
"It is not given to our
poor human intellect to climb to the skies, and to pierce the Council of the
Almighty One. But methinks I stand among the awful clouds which veil the
brightness of Jehovah's throne.
"Methinks I see the
recording Angel come trembling up to that throne and speak his dread message.
'Father, the old world is baptized in blood. Father, look with one glance of
Thine eternal eye, and behold evermore that terrible sight, man trodden beneath
the oppressor's feet, nations lost in blood, murder, and superstition, walking
hand in hand over the graves of the victims, and not a single voice of hope to
man!'
"He stands there, the
Angel, trembling with the record of human guilt. But hark! The voice of God
speaks from out the awful cloud: 'Let there be light again! Tell my people, the
poor and oppressed, to go out from the old world, from oppression and blood,
and build My altar in the new.'
"As I live, my friends, I
believe that to be His voice! Yes, were my soul trembling on the verge of
eternity, were this hand freezing in death, were this voice choking in the last
struggle, I would still, with the last impulse of that soul, with the last wave
of that hand, with the last gasp of that voice, implore you to remember this
truth-God has given America to be free!
"Yes, as I sank into the
gloomy shadows of the grave, with my last faint whisper I would beg you to sign
that parchment for the sake of those millions whose very breath is now hushed
in intense expectation as they look up to you for the awful words: 'You are
free.'''
The unknown speaker fell exhausted
into his seat. The delegates, carried away by his enthusiasm, rushed forward.
John Hancock scarcely had time to pen his bold signature before the quill was
grasped by another. It was done. The delegates turned to express their gratitude
to the unknown speaker for his eloquent words. He was not there.
Who was this strange man,
who seemed to speak with a divine authority, whose solemn words gave courage to
the doubters and sealed the destiny of the new nation? His name is not recorded; none of those
present knew him; or if they did, not one acknowledged the acquaintance. How he
had entered into the locked and guarded room is not told, nor is there any
record of the manner of his departure.
No one claimed to have seen him before or after that day. 
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