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When all that seems shall suffer shock.
One who came within the circuit of this sceptre of majestic age, might well pause to speculate whether the iron sleep could steal upon the lids over which that iron will stood sentinel. He, too, could not be conquered until worn out by attrition. He could not be conquered then. The last foe of all he turned to meet, in the old knightly fashion, and wrung from him the final victory, wherein he who conquers self is conqueror of death. Faithful son of the Church, he received his death wound, too, in the breast. Before the Universal Conqueror he fell upon his unsurrendered shield. He fell like a soldier, closing his eyes to earth and opening them to Heaven; he gave his soul Unto his Captain, Christ,
Under whose colors he had fought so long.
To this last Captain, who heareth and absolveth, his last report is handed. ‘There,’ he said on his death-bed to Dabney Maury, ‘we shall surely meet.’ Ah, there! In the light of that perfect eye which looks clean through appearance and judges the real only, there is this great appeal! In those upper fields where the venom of this earth is slain, its serpent crushed, where no false balance is and no inadvertency, his clear spirit will join and be felt where the mighty influences of time, purged of their dross, encounter as the stars in their courses fight. On the bosom of the Infinite he, too, is a star. In that last bosom, where the revenges of time are folded, earth's scarred warrior hath cleft a way to peace.
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