There shall thy weapon be kept, with the motto, ‘I hurled it.’
How hast thou hardened the living heart and quick feelings
To stand up and speak the great spirit-dividing sentence,—
To stand, a mark for the thief and assassin to aim at!
More than our envy, more than thy hope, was thy guerdon,
Setting the seal of thy blood to the word of thy courage!
If but the pure of heart in a pure cause should suffer,
Sumner, the task thou hast chosen was thine for its fitness.
Never was paschal victim more stainlessly offered,—
Never on milder brow gleamed the crown of the martyr.