The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart,
And they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart,
That kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent,
And around the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent!

Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good!
Long live the generous purpose unstained by human blood!
Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which
underlies;
Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's
sacrifice.

Nevermore may yon Blue Ridges the northern rifle hear,
Nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the Negro's
spear,
But let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded passes
scale,
To teach that right is more than might, and justice more
than mail!

So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array;
In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snows
with clay.
She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not
harm the dove;
And every gate she bars to Hate shall open wide to Love.

--Whittler.