The tide of public opinion is setting so strongly in favor of the use of negroes as soldiers, that the present danger seems to lie in the direction of our indulging in too extravagant expectations of their efficiency. We must not overlook the fact that, in the case of the former slaves, as much depends upon the character of their officers as upon the valor of the men. Nor should it be forgotten that among the freedmen who come within our lines, there is only a small proportion of able-bodied men capable of enduring the hardships of the service. In too many instances slavery has sapped the vigor of their lives, and the examinations of our surgeons have revealed an extent of physical weakness which is truly surprising. There can, however, no longer be any doubt in the minds of candid and loyal men, that the freedmen who are able to bear arms will prove themselves valiant soldiers, jealous defenders of their own and their country's liberties, and a terror to their enemies, who have so madly attempted to destroy both 'Liberty and Union.'
I stood beside the altar with a friend, To hear him plight his faith to a young bride, A rosy child of simple heart and mind. Yet two short years before, on that same spot, I heard the funeral chant above the bier Of a first wife--a woman bright as fair, Or blessed or cursed with genius, full of fire-- Who loved him with a passion high and rare; Whom he had won from paths of fame and art To walk unknown life's quiet ways with him. My mind was with the past, when the loud swell Of music rose to greet the childlike bride, The organ quivering as with solemn joy: Alas! another voice breathed through it all, Reproachful, haughty, wild, but very sad; Near, though its tones fell from that farthest shore, Where the eternal surge beats time no more! Sadly I gazed upon my friend, to mark If his new joys were quelled by the weird strains: He heard it not--he only saw the face, Blushing and girlish, 'neath its bridal veil; Saw not the stronger spirit standing by, With immortelles upon its massive front, And drooping wings adown its snowy shroud, And sense of wrong dewing its starry eye; Nor heard the chant of agony, reproach, Chilling the naïve joy of the marriage song.