An Apology

For A Warm Word Spoken

I spake, perhaps, too sharp a word

For one bred up in modesty,

But base injustice, trivial scorn

On honor heaped, had angered me.

The smile of courtesy forsook

These lips, so timid even for good,

While o’er the paleness of my brow

Flashed crimson, the indignant blood.

Nor could I to the contest bring

The trainèd weapon of the mind,

Snatching from Reason’s armory

Such shafts as grief had left behind.

Grief for the faltering of the Age,

Grief for my country and my race,

Grief to sit here with Christian men,

That boast their want of Christian grace.

I say not that the man I praise

By that poor tribute stands more high,

I say not that the man I blame

Be not of purer worth than I;

But when I move reluctant lips

For holy Justice, human Right,

The sacred cause I strive to plead

Lends me its favor and its might.

And I must argue from the faith

Which gave the fervor of my youth,

Or keep such silence as yon stars,

That only look and live God’s truth.