"We are reduced to the alternative of chusing an unconditional submission to the tyranny of irritated ministers, or resistance by force. -- The latter is our choice. -- We have counted the cost of this contest, and find nothing so dreadful as voluntary slavery. -- Honour, justice, and humanity, forbid us tamely to surrender that freedom which we received from our gallant ancestors, and which our innocent posterity have a right to receive from us. We cannot endure the infamy and guilt of resigning succeeding generations to that wretchedness which inevitably awaits them, if we basely entail hereditary bondage upon them." Source: http://www.freerepublic.com/forum/a84e4b.htm
THE MIDNIGHT RIDE OF PAUL REVERE
Listen my children and you will hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.
"To arms! To arms!" To spades and hoes?!?
Bury all your guns before the king knows!
Imagine the redcoats, filled with delight-
not one armed colonist stood ready to fight.
Lexington and Concord were burned to the ground,
Crackling flames the only heard sound.
More taxes were levied, more rights denied;
for lack of arms, patriots died.
So listen my children and you SHALL hear-
No country was born, only suffering and fear.
So if tyranny you want, then bury and pray
For the speedy arrival of that "brighter day."
But if Liberty you love and you yearn to be free,
Then live by this motto: DON'T TREAD ON ME!
An excellent poem to be sure, but also a warning that Freedom was not free …… for one has to remain ever vigilant lest the forces that are bent on enslaving all, will take away the freedom’s you cherish!
The next item was originally posted on AR-15.com and I would like to include it here:
----Original Message Follows----
From: "Bill Marcy" - wmarcy@stny.rr.com
Subject: Re: FW: [AR15-L]
I don't know if my whole rant on NEVER REGISTERING is simply guilt. I remember looking back at my grandfather as he was shooting his old bolt action mauser at the troop carrier that had pulled up to our door. My father and mother had been rounded up the same way a year earlier (they used the gun registration/confiscation list). My father had hidden my sister and me under the floor boards, and we watched as they dragged my father and mother out the door. My grandfather came to get us after two days (being two days under a floor with a sister is verging on hell, but we survived it), he took us back to his house and we were schooled in escaping if it ever became necessary.
When we heard the screams from the other families as they were dragged from their homes, the utter lack of defense, other than men kicking and punching at soldiers, who cheerfully clubbed them with rifle buttts, was striking.
When my grandfather pulled out his long hidden mauser, I started to cry. I knew that I would never see him again. I was never so proud of anyone in my life. He kissed my grandmother and pushed us out the back door, it led into a alley, and there was a tunnel that we had prepared that led out into the fields. I stopped at the door and watched as he opened the window slightly, he was like a machine after that, he worked that bolt faster than I can remember seeing anyone else do. I watched for three rounds, I am sure that for each of those three rounds, one soldier fell.
I heard more rounds fired as I got into the tunnel, I also heard automatic fire open up, I don't know how long he held them off, but I do know that we made it to the fields and eventually (through a long route) to America.
Too say I will not allow it to happen here is egotistical as anything I can think of but I do know that I will take my turn at the window this time, and hope that I can do as well as my grandfather did.
Source
