So he wrote in January, 1861. But afterward he becomes a pained but sadly approving spectator of the inevitable conflict:—
"Then Freedom sternly said: 'I shun
No strife nor pang beneath the sun,
When human rights are staked and won.
* * * *
The moor of Marston felt my tread,
Through Jersey snows the march I led,
My voice Magenta's charges sped.'"
The Watchers.
As a Friend, he and his brethren could not personally engage in war. But they could minister to the sick and dying, and care for the slave.
"THE SLAVE IS OURS!"
he says,—
"And we may tread the sick-bed floors
Where strong men pine,
And, down the groaning corridors,
Pour freely from our liberal stores
The oil and wine."
Anniversary Poem.