Passion-Flowers (Howe)/An Apology

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AN APOLOGY
FOR A WARM WORD SPOKEN.
I spake, perhaps, too sharp a wordFor one bred up in modesty,But base injustice, trivial scornOn honor heaped, had angered me.
The smile of courtesy forsookThese lips, so timid even for good,While o'er the paleness of my browFlashed crimson, the indignant blood.
Nor could I to the contest bringThe trainèd weapon of the mind,Snatching from Reason's armorySuch shafts as grief had left behind.
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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 praiseBy that poor tribute stands more high,I say not that the man I blameBe not of purer worth than I;
But when I move reluctant lipsFor holy Justice, human Right,The sacred cause I strive to pleadLends me its favor and its might.
And I must argue from the faithWhich gave the fervor of my youth,Or keep such silence as yon stars,That only look and live God's truth.
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