Yes—fame is his:—but not the fame
For which the conqueror pants and strives,
Whose path is tracked through blood and flame,
And over countless human lives!
His name no armed battalions hail
With bugle shriek or thundering gun,—
No widows curse him, as they wail
For slaughtered husband and for son.
Amid the moral strife alone,
He battled fearlessly and long,
And poured, with clear, untrembling tone,
Rebuke upon the hosts of Wrong—
To break Oppression's cruel rod,
He dared the perils of the fight,
And in the name of Freedom's God
Struck boldly for the True and Right!
With faith, whose eye was never dim,
The triumph, yet afar, he saw,
When, bonds smote off from soul and limb,
And freed alike by Love and Law,
The slave—no more a slave—shall stand
Erect—and loud, from sea to sea,
Exultant burst o'er all the land
The glorious song of jubilee!
Why should we mourn, thy labor done,
That thou art called to thy reward;
Rest, Freedom's war-worn champion!
Rest, faithful soldier of the Lord!
For oh, not vainly hast thou striven,
Through storm, and gloom, and deepest night—
Not vainly hath thy life been given
For God, for Freedom, and for Right.