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Show 86 TilE GOLDEN HOUR. The proverb says, "Faithful arc the wounds of a friend" ; and if we were smiLing the outh to heal her of the withering curse that is upon her, our wounds ·will be far more friendly than all tho c ·weak compromise and in<lulgcnces by which the N orLh has for year hclpcu to fa ten her cut"C upon her. An ~unncsty for tho SouLh leaving her Slavery ·would be the bitterest wrong and cruelty we could inflict on her. Humanity, Christianity, would welco1ne and jusLify any severity necessary to relieve the South of that curse, as they would the severity of the surgeon's probe, for the overbalancing benefit it brings. The friend of humanity coulu then patiently sec more bloodshed than the land has yet witncs cd, if he knew that this blood was shed for the rcmis ion of the nation's sin, the re1noval of its pitiless curse. And yet, what are we actually carrying South with our arms ? After the surrender of Fort Donelson, the first thing done was to run up the U nite<l States banncr ; the second thing was to return to rebel masters twelve slaves found therein. This was boasted of by a Kentucky Senator in the Senate, and the author of the deed wont unrcbukcd. But we got through hin1 at Shiloh as heavy a blow as those twelve negroes got. We shall find that all the orders " No. 3 " will come home to roost. At Port Royal a negro, deserted by his master, came within our lines, and, addressing Colonel Lee, said, " Will you please, sir, tell me if I am a free- .MERCY' AN D NOT SACRIFICE. 87 md anb? *'' AC ol one1 L eo was dumb . Tl lC govcrnmen t is um . s yet you, my countrylncn arc du b Whatever title tho Southern 1t a t'c s may mh a·v e had * The following touching lyric was p1a ced m. my hand ing of this incident, by one who has 1. 1 . ' soon after hear- . a ICa< y gtven us that wl. h . to be mcorporated with tho "John Br.o wn S onO' " as tl "B1IC l S worthy of tile Republic." 0 ' 10 attic llymn T ell me, master, am I free 1 From the prison-land I come From a wrecked humanity, From the fable of a home,- ' From the market where m Y W1·r1e , "\!Vitb my baby at her breast, Faded from my narrow life I Rudely bartere<.l and posscst. :Masters, yo are fighting long, 'V ell your trumpct-bla t wo know: Arc yc come to right a wronO' 'l b' Do we call you friend or foe 1 Will ye keep me, for my faith, From the hound that scents my track 1 From the riotous, drunken breath, From the murder at my back 1 God mu t come, for whom we pray, Knowing his deJi ,·crnncc true. I Shall our men be left to say, lie must work it free of you 1 Links of an unsightcd chain Bound the spirit of our braves. ' Waiting for the nobler strain ' Silence told him we were slaves. |
