My dear, dear
Father: I have just learned that there is probably a way through which I may
communicate with you; and, though the time is short, I must say a word.
While my heart is
bowed down with unutterable grief, I have cause to thank God that my reason is
yet unclouded. The Spirit which has sustained you in your hours of dreadful
suffering, and which dispels the shadows of "the dark valley," has
not deserted us who love to call you father. I feel that I cannot, in these my
last words to you on this side of Heaven, say any thing more comforting. Though
we are poor in this world's goods, and some of our number are hunted by the
minions of tyranny for endeavoring to aid our despised and oppressed brethren,
we yet feel rich in the legacy of your life and deeds.
You say in your
letter to J. R., "Tell my poor boys not to mourn for me." O, how can
we help mourning for you? We must mingle our tears together over our dear lost
father. No, not lost; for, "though you die, yet shall you rise
again." For a brief period, you must pass beyond our sight. We may never
look upon your outward form again, but still you will live live in the hearts
of your children, and in the hearts of millions of poor Afric's sons and
daughters, who will yet love to call you father.
Be assured that all
I can do to minister to the comfort of the destitute members of our family, I
shall do, "not forgetting those in bonds as bound with them."
And now, my dear
father, be cheered by our conviction that your life furnishes the best
vindication of your memory; that, even now, your motives are appreciated by
those whose hearts are susceptible to generous and noble emotions; and, O! with
these words I convey the assurance of the undying attachment of your
affectionate son John, in this his long, last Farewell.
SOURCE: James
Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 429
No comments:
Post a Comment