The martyrdom of John Brown was most worthily celebrated at
Concord, Massachusetts. The town which inaugurated the first American
"Insurrection" was faithful to its traditions in doing honor to the
first martyr of the second and the grander Revolution; and, unlike other towns,
equally zealous for justice, and equally desirous of doing honor to the merits
and memory of John Brown, it possessed more men by nature fit for the occasion,
than any other community of the same population in the Union.
The meeting at Concord assembled in the Town Hall at two
o'clock in the afternoon, Dec. 2d, and was called to order by the Hon. Simon
Brown, who said that on this day Virginia had inflicted on herself a worse blow
than all her enemies had ever done or could do; she had, under the forms of
law, murdered her truest friend.
Rev. E. H. Sears, of Wayland, offered up the following
PRAYER.
Our Father who art in heaven, we desire at this hour to
gather ourselves closer within thine omnipotence and mercy; for when a sense of
this world's oppressions and wrongs hangs heavily upon us, to whom shall we go
but unto thee? Thou dost unite us to thyself by ties of filial love, and to our
fellow-men by the ties of a common brotherhood, for thou hast given us all one
human heart. Look down at this hour from thy holy heavens, and extend thy
protecting providence another by the hand of Away from the dismal around one
who is passing from this world to violence, and from the midst of cruel men.
surroundings, away from the scaffold, away from the scoffings and the strife of
tongues, open, we beseech thee, a clear pathway to that world where there is no
hatred and wrong; where the wicked cease from troubling, and the slave is free
from his master. And remember, we pray thee, those whose hearts are now made to
break and to bleed those who at this hour are called to widowhood and
orphanage; fold them tenderly in the arms of thy providence, and lead them and
preserve them. And remember the race who have been trodden down for ages under
the heel of oppression and wrong, and let their redemption come. Let those who
have passed on through fire and blood, plead for them with thee. Let the blood
of all thy martyrs for liberty, from ancient times down to this hour, cry to
thee from the ground till the slave rises from his thraldom into the full glory
of manhood. And when that day shall come, let it not be through the chaos of
revolutions, not by staining this fair earth with the blood of brothers, but
let thy spirit descend in its gentleness, and change the heart of the master,
and melt off the fetters of the slave. And O, at this dark hour, give us a new
consecration of ourselves to the cause of humanity By Him who came from heaven
and clothed himself in our nature, the nature of the humblest man that lives,
that he might raise it up and glorify it; by him who took up into his
experience all the wants and woes of our common humanity; by him who speaks
from all thy lowly ones, "Inasmuch as ye did it to one of the least of
these, ye did it unto me," — by all these motives may we take with fresh
zeal the vow of self-devotion to the cause of God and man. And to thee, in
Jesus Christ, be all the glory forever. Amen.
This hymn was then sung by a choir, accompanied by the music
of an organ, which had been placed in the Hall for this occasion:
HYMN.
Go to the grave in all thy glorious
prime,
In full activity of zeal and power;
A Christian cannot die before his time;
The Lord's appointment is his servant's
hour.
Go to the grave; at noon from labor
cease;
Best on thy sheaves; the harvest task
is done;
Come from the heat of battle, and in
peace,
Soldier, go home; with thee the fight
is won.
Go to the grave; for there thy Saviour
lay
In death's embrace, ere he arose on
high;
And all the ransomed, by that narrow
way
Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.
Go to the grave; no, take thy seat
above;
Be thy pure spirit present with the
Lord;
Where thou for faith and hope hast
perfect love,
And open vision for the written word.
MR. THOREAU'S
REMARKS.
Henry D. Thoreau then rose and said: So universal and widely
related is any transcendent moral greatness, and so nearly identical with
greatness every where and in every age,—as a pyramid contracts the nearer you
approach its apex,— that, when I now look over my commonplace book of poetry, I
find that the best of it is oftenest applicable, in part or wholly, to the case
of Captain Brown. Only what is true, and strong, and solemnly earnest, will
recommend itself to our mood at this time. Almost any noble verse may be read,
either as his elegy or eulogy, or be made the text of an oration on him.
Indeed, such are now discovered to be the parts of a universal liturgy,
applicable to those rare cases of heroes and martyrs for which the ritual of no
church has provided. This is the formula established on high—their burial
service to which every great genius has contributed its stanza or line. As
Marvell wrote:
When the sword glitters o'er the
judge's head,
And fear has coward churchmen silenced,
Then is the poet's time; 'tis then he
draws,
And single fights forsaken virtue's
cause;
He, when the wheel of empire whirleth
back,
And though the world's disjointed axle
crack,
Sings still of ancient rights and
better times,
Seeks suffering good, arraigns
successful crimes.
The sense of grand poetry, read by the light of this event,
is brought out distinctly like an invisible writing held to the fire:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb, —
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
We have heard that the Boston lady1 who recently
visited our hero in prison, found him wearing still the clothes, all cut and
torn by sabres and by bayonet thrusts, in which he had been taken prisoner; and
thus he had gone to his trial; and without a hat. She spent her time in prison
mending those clothes, and, for a memento, brought home a pin covered with
blood.
What are the clothes that endure?
The garments lasting evermore
Are works of mercy to the poor;
And neither tetter, time, nor moth
Shall fray that silk or fret this
cloth.
The well-known verses called "The Soul's Errand,"
supposed, by some, to have been written by Sir Walter Raleigh, when he was
expecting to be executed the following day, are at least worthy of such an
origin, and are equally applicable to the present case. Hear them:
THE
SOUL'S ERRAND.
Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless arrant;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Go, tell the Court it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Go, tell the Church it shows
What's good, and doth no good;
If church and court reply,
Give church and court the lie.
Tell potentates they live
Acting by other's actions;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by their factions:
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate;
And if they once reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
Tell Zeal it lacks devotion;
Tell Love it is but lust;
Tell Time it is but motion;
Tell Flesh it is but dust;
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Tell Age it daily wasteth;
Tell Honor how it alters;
Tell Beauty how she blasteth;
Tell Favor how she falters;
And, as they shall reply,
Give each of them the lie.
Tell Fortune of her blindness;
Tell Nature of decay;
Tell Friendship of unkindness;
Tell Justice of delay;
And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lie.
And when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing,
Yet, stab at thee who will,
No stab the soul can kill.
"When I am dead,
Let not the day be writ,"
Nor
bell be tolled;2
"Love will remember it"
When hate is cold.
Mr. Thoreau also read these passages, selected for the
occasion by another citizen of Concord:
COLLINS.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By Fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their
clay,
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.
SCHILLER.
He is gone, he is dust;
He the more fortunate; yea, he hath
finished;
To him there is no longer any future;
His life is bright — bright without spot
it was,
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
Knocks at his door with tidings of
mishap.
Far off is he, above desire and fear;
No more submitted to the change and
chance
Of the unsteady planets. O, 'tis well
With him; but who knows what the coming
hour,
Veiled in thick darkness, brings for
us?
WORDSWORTH.
May we not with sorrow say,
A few strong instincts, and a few plain
rules,
Among the serdsmen of the hills, have
wrought
More for mankind at this unhappy day,
Than all the pride of intellect and
thought?
TENNYSON.
Ah, God! for a man with heart, head,
hand,
Like some of the simple great ones gone
Forever and ever by;
One still strong man in a blatant land,
Whatever they call him what care I,—
Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat,—one
Who can rule, and dare not lie.
GEORGE
CHAPMAN.
There is no danger to a man who knows
Where life and death is; there's not
any law
Exceeds his knowledge, neither is it
needful
That he should stoop to any other law;
He goes before them, and commands them
all.
That to himself is a law rational.
SHILLER.
At the approach
Of Extreme peril, when a hollow image
Is found a hollow image, and no more,
Then falls the power into the mighty
hands
Of nature, of the spirit giant-born
Who listens only to himself, knows
nothing
Of stipulations, duties, reverences,
And, like the emancipated force of fire
Unmastered, scorches, ere it reaches
them,
Their fine-spun webs.
WOTTON.
How happy is he born and taught
Who serveth not another’s will,
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill—!
Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Not tied unto the world with care
Of princes’ ear or vulgar breath;—
Who hath his life from rumors freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat,
Whose state can neither flatterers
feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with
praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
—
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
TACITUS.3
You, Agricola, are fortunate, not only because your life was
glorious, but because your death was timely. As they tell us who heard your
last words, unchanged and willing you accepted your fate; as if, as far as in
your power, you would make the emperor appear innocent. But, besides the
bitterness of having lost a parent, it adds to our grief, that it was not
permitted us to minister to your health, . . . to gaze on your countenance, and
receive your last embrace; surely, we might have caught some words and commands
which we could have treasured in the inmost part of our souls. This is our
pain, this our wound. . . . You were buried with the fewer tears, and in your
last earthly light, your eyes looked around for something which they did not
see.
If there is any abode for the spirits of the pious; if, as
wise men suppose, great souls are not extinguished with the body, may you rest
placidly, and call your family from weak regrets, and womanly laments, to the
contemplation of your virtues, which must not be lamented, either silently or
aloud. Let us honor you by our admiration, rather than by short-lived praises,
and, if nature aid us, by our emulation of you. That is true honor, that the
piety of whoever is most akin to you. This also I would teach your family, so
to venerate your memory, as to call to mind all your actions and words, and
embrace your character and the form of your soul, rather than of your body; not
because I think that statues which are made of marble or brass are to be
condemned, but as the features of men, so images of the features, are frail and
perishable. The form of the soul is eternal; and this we can retain and
express, not by a foreign material and art, but by our own lives. Whatever of
Agricola we have loved, whatever we have admired, remains, and will remain, in
the minds of men, and the records of history, through the eternity of ages. For
oblivion will overtake many of the ancients, as if they were inglorious and
ignoble : Agricola, described and transmitted to posterity, will survive.
MR. CHARLES BOWERS followed Mr. Thoreau, and read the
celebrated protest of Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of
Independence, third President of the United States, a Virginian, a historian of
Virginia, and the predecessor of Governor Wise in the gubernatorial chair of
that State; in which, it will be seen, he seems to have anticipated something
like what has lately occurred:
PROTEST OF JEFFERSON.
The whole commerce between master and slave is a perpetual
exercise of the most boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism on the
one part, and degrading submission on the other. . . . The man must be a
prodigy who can retain his manners and morals undepraved by such circumstances.
And with what execration should the statesman be loaded, who, permitting one
half the citizens thus to trample on the rights of the other, transforms those
into despots and these into enemies—destroys the morals of the one part, and
the amor patriæ of the other! And can
the liberties of a nation be deemed secure, when we have removed their only
firm basis—a conviction in the minds of the people that these liberties are the
gift of God? that they are not to be violated but with his wrath? Indeed, I
tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just that his justice cannot
sleep forever; that, considering numbers, nature and natural means only, a
revolution of the wheel of fortune, an exchange of situation, is among possible
events; that it may become probable by supernatural interference! The Almighty
has no attribute that can take side with us in such a contest.
HON. John S. Keyes
said: In order to give this assembly a picture of the event now taking place in
Virginia, I propose to read to you an account of a scene in some respects
similar, which occurred in Edinburgh some two hundred years ago:
THE
EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.4
They brought him to the Watergate,
Hard bound with hempen span,
As though they held a lion there,
And not a venceless man.
They set him high upon a cart—
The hangman rode below—
They drew his hands behind his back,
And bared his noble brow.
Then as a hound is slipped from leash,
They cheered the common throng,
And blew the note with yell and shout,
And bade him pass along.
It would have made a brave man's heart
Grow sad and sick, that day,
To watch the keen, malignant eyes
Bent down on that array.
Then stood the Whig south country lords
In balcony and bow;
There sat their gaunt and withered
domes,
And their daughters all a-row;
And every open window
Was full as full might be
With black-robed Covenanting carles,
That goodly sport to see!
But when he came, though pale and wan.
He looked so great and high,
So noble was his manly front,
So calm his steadfast eye,
The rabble rout forbore to shout,
And each man held his breath,
For well they knew the hero's soul
Was face to face with death.
And then a mournful shudder
Through all the people crept,
And some that came to scoff at him
Now turned aside and wept.
But onward — always onward
In silence and in gloom,
The dreary pageant labored,
Till it reached the place of doom.
And then uprose the great Montrose
In the middle of the room-
"I have not sought in battle-field
A wreath of such renown,
Nor dared I hope, on my dying day,
To win the martyr's crown.
"There is a chamber far away
Where sleep the good and brave,
But a better place ye have named for me
Than by my father's grave.
For truth and right, 'gainst tyrants'
might
This hand hath always striven,
And ye raise it up for a witness still
In the eye of earth and heaven.
Then nail my head on yonder tower
Give every town a limb-
And God, who made, shall gather them;
I go from you to Him!"
The morning dawned full darkly,
The rain came flashing down,
And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt
Lit up the gloomy town:
The thunder crashed across the heaven,
The fatal hour was come;
Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat.
The 'larum of the drum.
There was madness on the earth below,
And anger in the sky;
And young and old, and rich and poor,
Came forth to see him die.
Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet!
How dismal 'tis to see
The great, tall, spectral skeleton,
The ladder and the tree!
Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms
The bells begin to toll —
"He is coming! He is coming!"
"God's mercy on his soul!"
One last, long peal of thunder —
The clouds are cleared away,
And the glorious sun once more looks
down
Amidst the dazzling day.
"He is coming! he is coming!"
Like a bridegroom from his room,
Came the hero from his prison
To the scaffold and the doom.
There was glory on his forehead,
There was lustre in his eye,
And he never walked to battle
More proudly than to die;
There was color in his visage,
Though the checks of all were wan,
And they marvelled as they saw him
pass,
That great and goodly man!
He mounted up the scaffold,
And he turned him to the crowd;
But they dared not trust the people,
So he might not speak aloud.
But he looked upon the heavens,
And they were clear and blue,
And in the liquid ether
The eye of God shone through;
Yet a black and murky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,
As though the thunder slept within
All else was calm and still.
The grim Geneva ministers
With anxious scowl drew near,
As you have seen the ravens flock
Around the dying deer.
He would not deign them word nor sign,
But alone he bent his knee,
And veiled his face for Christ's dear
grace,
Beneath the gallows tree.
Then radiant and serene he rose,
And cast his cloak away;
For he had ta'en his latest look
Of earth, and sun, and day.
A beam of light fell o'er him
Like a glory round the shriven,
And he climbed the lofty ladder
As it were the path to heaven.
Then came a flash from out the cloud,
And a stunning thunder-roll;
And no man dared to look aloft;
Fear was on every soul.
There was another heavy sound,
A hush, and then a groan;
And darkness swept across the sky —
The work of death was done!
A. Bronson Alcott then offered these sentences from
PLATO.
An upright man is a perpetual magistrate.
Jupiter, fearing for our race, lest it should entirely
perish, by reason of injuring one another from not possessing the political
art, but only the military, sent Hermes to carry Shame and Justice to men, that
they might be ornaments of cities and bonds to cement friend,hip. Hermes,
therefore, asked Jupiter in what manner he was to give Shame and Justice to
men. "Whether, as the arts have been distributed, so shall I distribute
these, also? For they have been distributed thus: one man who possesses the
medicinal art is sufficient for many not skilled in it. And so with other
craftsmen. Shall I thus dispense Shame and Justice among men, or distribute
them to all?" "To all," said Jupiter, "and let all partake
of them; for there would be no cities if a few only were to partake of them, as
of other arts. Moreover, enact a law in my name, that whoever is unable to
partake of Shame and Justice, shall be put to death as a pest of a city."
The next exercise was the recital of the following original
ODE.
O Brother, brave, and just, and wise!
Whose death unjust we mourn to-day,
Thy name shall live till Freedom dies;
No tyrant can thy spirit slay!
The Hero's page, the Martyr's scroll,
Since men for truth and virtue bled,
Bears record of no manlier soul
Than thine that even now has fled.
Unworthy land that knew thee not!
That bade her best and bravest die!
Be hers the shame thy glorious lot
Admits thy soul to God's free sky.
His constant voice inspired thy deed.
His clear command thy heart obeyed,
His hand shall give thy deathless meed
When thou and we in dust are laid.
The prattling child shall lisp thy
praise,
The aged sire thy cause approve;
Forbidden to prolong thy days,
Our love shall yet thy shame remove.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
said that the part assigned to him in the services of the day, was to read
portions of the conversations, speeches, and letters of John Brown—an obscure
Connecticut farmer, who, taking the Gospel in earnest, and devoting himself to
the uplifting of a despised race, had suddenly become the most prominent person
in the country. He then read extracts from the conversation
between Senator Mason and John Brown, and from Captain Cook's Confession;
the last speech of John Brown in Court; his letter
to Rev. Mr. Vaill, of Litchfield, Connecticut; his "letter to a
Christian Conservative," and a passage from his reply
to Mrs. Child.5
Mr. Alcott then read the
SERVICE FOR THE DEATH OF A MARTYR.
In introducing this new and worthy liturgy, he said that on
occasions like the present, when the heart and the conscience are so deeply
moved, silence seems better than speech. Yet some voice must be found for the
sentiment so universal today; and accordingly I now read to you these leaves of
wisdom from
JESUS
CHRIST.
Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them:
for this is the law and the prophets.
Whether it is lawful to obey God or man, judge ye.
SOLOMON.6
The ungodly said, reasoning with themselves, but not aright,
Our life is short and tedious, and in the death of a man there is no remedy;
neither was there any man known to have returned from the grave.
Let us oppress the poor righteous man; let us not spare the
widow, nor reverence the ancient gray hairs of the aged.
Let our strength be the law; for that which is feeble is
found to be nothing worth.
Therefore let us lie in wait for the righteous; because he
is not for our turn, and he is clean contrary to our doings: he upbraideth us
with our offending the law.
He professeth to have the knowledge of God; and he calleth
himself the child of the Lord. He was made to reprove our thoughts.
He is grievous unto us even to behold: for his life is not
like other men's, his ways are of another fashion.
We are esteemed of him as counterfeits; he abstaineth from
our ways as from filthiness; he pronounceth the end of the just to be blessed,
and maketh his boast that God is his father.
Let us see if his words be true, and let us prove what shall
happen in the end of him.
For, if the just man be the Son of God, He will help him,
and deliver him from the hand of his enemies.
Let us examine him with despitefulness and torture, that we
may know his meekness and prove his patience.
Let us condemn him with a shameful death; for by his own
saying he shall be respected.
Such things they did imagine and were deceived; for their
own wickedness had blinded them.
They, the people, stood up, and the rulers took counsel
together against the Lord and against his Anointed.
They cast their heads together with one consent, and were
confederate against him.
He heard the blasphemy of the multitude, and fear was on
every side, while they conspired together against him to take away his life.
They spake against him with false tongues, and compassed him
about with words of hatred.
They rewarded him evil for good.
They took their counsel together, saying, God hath forsaken
him: persecute him and take him, for there is none to deliver.
Let the sentence of guiltiness proceed against him, and now
that he lieth, let him rise up no more.
False witnesses, also, did rise up against him; they laid to
his charge things that he knew not.7
Then shall the righteous man stand in great boldness before
the face of such as have afflicted him and made no account of his labors.
"For the sins of the people and the iniquities of the
rulers they shed the blood of the just. In their anger they slew a man; the man
whom Thou hadst made so strongly for Thine Own Self." — Lamentations.
He, being made perfect, in a short time fulfilled a long
time.
For his soul pleased the Lord; therefore, hasted He to take
him away from among the Wicked.
This the People saw and understood it not, neither laid they
up this in their minds that His grace and mercy is with His saints, and that He
hath respect unto His Chosen.
When they see it they shall be troubled with terrible fear,
and shall be amazed at the strangeness of his salvation, so far beyond all that
they looked for.
And they, repenting and groaning for anguish of spirit,
shall say within themselves, This was he whom we had sometime in derision and a
proverb of reproach.
We, fools, accounted his life madness and his end to be
without honor. How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is
among the saints!
What hath pride profited us? or what good hath riches with
our vaunting brought us?
All those things are passed away like a shadow, and as a
post that hasteth by ;
And as a ship that passeth over the waves of the water;
Or as when a bird hath flown through the air;
Or, like as when an arrow is shot at a mark, it parteth the
air, which immediately cometh together again, so that a man cannot know where
it went through;
Even so we, in like manner, as soon as we were born, began
to draw to our end, and had no sign of virtue to show; but were consumed in our
own wickedness.
But the righteous live forevermore; their reward, also, is
with the Lord; and the care of them is with the Most High.
Therefore shall they receive a glorious kingdom and a
beautiful crown from the Lord's hand; for with his right hand shall he cover
them, and with his arm shall he protect them.
Great are Thy Judgments, and cannot be expressed; therefore
unnurtured souls have erred.
For, when unrighteous men thought to oppress the righteous
one, they, being shut up in their houses, the prisoners of darkness, and
fettered with the bonds of a long night, lay there exiled from the Eternal
Providence.
For while they supposed to lie hid in their secret sins,
they were scattered under a dark veil of forgetfulness, being horribly
astonished and troubled with strange apparitions.
For neither might the corner that held them keep them from
fear; but noises, as of waters falling down, sounded about them; and sad
visions appeared unto them with heavy countenances.
No power of the fire might give them light; neither could
the bright flames of the stars endure to lighten that horrible night.
Only there appeared unto them a fire kindled of itself, very
dreadful; for, being much terrified, they thought the things which they saw to
be worse than the sight they saw not.
Yea, the tasting of death touched the righteous also.
For then the blameless man made haste, and stood forth to
defend them, and bringing the shield of his proper ministry, even prayer and
the propitiation of incense, set himself against the wrath, and so brought the
calamity to an end, declaring that he was Thy Servant.
So he overcame the destroyer, not with the strength of body
or force of arms, but with a word subdued he him that punished, alleging the
oaths and covenants made with the Fathers.
For, in all things, O Lord, Thou didst magnify Thy Servant
and glorify him; neither didst Thou lightly regard him, but didst assist him in
every time and place.
The souls of the righteous are in the hands of God, and
there shall no torment touch them.
In the sight of the unwise he seemed to die: and his
departure is taken for misery, and his going from us to be utter destruction;
but he is in peace.
For though he be punished in the sight of men, yet is his
hope full of Immortality.
And, having been a little chastised, he shall be greatly
rewarded; for God proved him and found him worthy for himself.
He shall judge the nations and have dominion over the
people, and his Lord shall reign forever.
The following original verses, by a gentleman of Concord,
were then read by Mr. Brown, and sung by the congregation standing:
DIRGE.
To-day beside Potomac's wave,
Beneath Virginia's sky,
They slay the man who loved the slave,
And dared for him to die.
The Pilgrim Fathers' earnest creed,
Virginia's ancient faith,
Inspired this hero's noblest deed,
And his reward is — Death!
Great Washington's indignant shade
Forever urged him on —
He heard from Monticello's glade
The voice of Jefferson.
But chiefly on the Hebrew page
He read Jehovah's law,
And this, from youth to hoary age,
Obeyed with love and awe.
No selfish purpose armed his hand,
No passion aimed his blow;
How loyally he loved his land
Impartial Time shall show.
But now the faithful martyr dies;
His brave heart beats no more;
His soul ascends the equal skies;
His earthly course is o'er.
For this we mourn, but not for him:
Like him, in God we trust;
And though our eyes with tears are dim,
We know that God is just.
_______________
1 The wife of Judge
Russell.
2 The selectmen of the town, not knowing but they
had authority, refused to allow the bell to be tolled on this occasion.
3 Translated by Mr. Thoreau.
4 From Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish
Cavaliers."
5 I do not wish to repeat the same quotations in
any of my books; and, as all the passages read by Mr. Emerson appear in my Life
of John Brown, in the chapters entitled "The Political Inquisitors,"
"Condemned to die," "Lying in Wait," and "The
Conquering Pen," I omit them here.
6 Chiefly from the "Wisdom of Solomon."
7 The last eight verses are from the Psalter.
SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s
Ferry, p. 437-54
