Thy spirit is more gentle than a dove,
Yet hath an angel's energy and scope;
Its flight is towering as the heaven above,
And with the outstretched earth doth bravely cope.
Thou standest on an eminence so high
All nations congregate around its base;
There, with a kindling soul and piercing eye,
The wrongs and sufferings of thy kind dost trace:
Thy country is the world—thou know'st no other—
And every man, in every clime, thy brother!
No friendship, indeed, was to prove more pure or more lasting; and none had a greater influence on Mr. Garrison's life. In the twenty-eighth number of the Liberator appeared among the list of agents the name of Henry Egbert Benson, of Providence, R. I. He was the younger brother of the Mr. Benson mentioned above, and it was at the suggestion of Mr. May, then the Unitarian pastor of1 the Connecticut village of Brooklyn, in which their father resided, that Mr. Garrison inserted Henry Egbert's name, and immediately wrote to beg his acceptance of the 2 commission. Mr. Benson needed no urging, for had already interested himself in the success of the paper. The time was coming when that interest would be something more than philanthropic, and more than friendly —even brotherly. To him Mr. Garrison writes, under date of Boston, August 29, 1831:
I have had the pleasure of taking your brother by the hand.3 and of holding an interesting tete-à--tete with him on the subject of slavery. My only regret is, on account of his short tarry, which has prevented me from paying him that attention which would be desirable. He is, I am glad to find, sound in the faith, not having in the least degenerated from his parent stock. Would to Heaven there were a host of such men enlisted in the glorious cause of universal emancipation! But we shall muster an army, by and by. The cause of freedom is onward; and the day is not far distant, I trust, when a black skin will not be merely endurable, but popular. For, be assured, favors are to be heaped, in due time, upon our colored countrymen, as thickly as have been sorrow and abuse. I have no despondency—no doubt: the triumph of truth is as sure as the light of heaven.