by Ralph Waldo Emerson
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled;
Here once the embattled farmers stood;
And fired the shot heard round the world.
The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps,
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream that seaward creeps.
On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We place with joy a votive stone,
That memory may their deeds redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.O Thou who made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,—
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raised to them and Thee.
We stand at the brink, understanding that the world we have known cannot stand unchanged in the face of the ominous forces of societal, economic and moral collapse, expanding government appetites and natural push-back on the part of people who always thought they were free and have awakened to the prospect that other people are doing their dead-level best to enslave them and their children.
If history has taught us anything, it is that there is no negotiating with collectivist slave-masters. Like the Borg, collectivism in all its forms demands your assimilation or your death.
And let us take more than one moment today to reflect upon the monstrous crimes in modern memory that this date also marks the anniversary of: Waco and Oklahoma City. Let us swear that neither be repeated as long as we draw breath. As Three Percenters, we cannot do otherwise.