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And in trustful innocence

Draw new strength and courage thence;
He, the proud man, feels within

But the cowardice of sin!

She can murmur in her thought
Simple prayers her mother taught,
And His blessed angels call,
Whose great love is over all;
He, alone, in prayerless pride,
Meets the dark Past at her side!

One, who living shrank with dread
From his look, or word, or tread,
Unto to whom her early grave
Was as freedom to the slave,
Moves him at this midnight hour,
With the dead's unconscious power!

Ah, the dead, the unforgot!

From their solemn homes of thought,
Where the cypress shadows blend
Darkly over foe and friend,
Or in love or sad rebuke,

Back upon the living look.

And the tenderest ones and weakest,

Who their wrongs have borne the meekest,

Lifting from those dark, still places,

Sweet and sad-remembered faces,

O'er the guilty hearts behind

An unwitting triumph find.

THE FAREWELL

OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTERS SOLD INTO SOUTHERN

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UP

By the kirk and college green,
Rode the Laird of Ury;

Close behind him, close beside,
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed,
Pressed the mob in fury.

Flouted him the drunken churl,
Jeered at him the serving-girl,

Prompt to please her master;
And the begging carlin, late
Fed and clothed at Ury's gate,

Cursed him as he passed her.

Yet, with calm and stately mien,
Up the streets of Aberdeen
Came he slowly riding:

And, to all he saw and heard,
Answering not with bitter word,
Turning not for chiding.

Came a troop with broadswords swinging,
Bits and bridles sharply ringing,

Loose and free and froward;

Quoth the foremost, "Ride him down!
Push him! prick him! through the town
Drive the Quaker coward!"

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While for them He suffereth long,
Shall I answer wrong with wrong,

Scoffing with the scoffer?

Happier I, with loss of all, Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall,

With few friends to greet me,

Than when reeve and squire were scen, Riding out from Aberdeen,

With bared heads to meet me.

"When each good wife, o'er and o'er,
Blessed me as I passed her door;
And the snooded daughter,

Through her casement glancing down,
Smiled on him who bore renown
From red fields of slaughter.

"Hard to feel the stranger's scoff,
Hard the old friend's falling off,
Hard to learn forgiving.
But the Lord his own rewards,
And his love with theirs accords,
Warm and fresh and living.

"Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light

Up the blackness streaking;

Knowing God's own time is best,

In a patient hope I rest

For the full day-breaking!"

So the Laird of Ury said,

Turning slow his horse's head

Towards the Tolbooth prison,

Where, through iron grates, he heard Poor disciples of the Word

Preach of Christ arisen!

Not in vain, Confessor old,
Unto us the tale is told

Of thy day of trial;

Every age on him, who strays

From its broad and beaten ways,
Pours its sevenfold vial.

Happy he whose inward ear
Angel comfortings can hear,
O'er the rabble's laughter;

And, while Hatred's fagots burn,
Glimpses through the smoke discern
Of the good hereafter.

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