Page:Southern Historical Society Papers volume 41.djvu/25

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Robert E. Lee, the Flower of the South
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did not drop from his lips, nor hatred smoulder in his heart. He bore the sorrows of his people with Christian patience, and suffered without an unmanly groan. He did not seek a cloister to perfect his virtue, but brought to the service of peace a character purified amid the fires of war, and threw the strength of his great soul into building the manhood of the sons of his heroic followers. Even the great sometimes grow small by nearness, for the flaws in our poor nature come out in bold distinctness to those who stand close by. Not so with our great Lee. In his case daily contact kindled enthusiasm, and he was greatest to those who knew him best.

When he died the whole South wept at his bier, and put the crown of her love on this "stateliest man of all our time." And the South is glad to crown her Lee, and triumphant is Virginia whose highest honor is this noblest of her sons. So simple yet so royal was his bearing that he became and remains a pattern for his fellows, and his life has been a paradise of despair to those who seek to follow.

Like some tall cliff against whose solid base the angry waves are beating, and on whose massive breast the dark storm clouds are spread stands our Lee, with eternal sunshine on his good, grey head. Passing years have not dwarfed him. The new generation joins the remnant of his heroic followers in thanking God for the gift of Lee. We hail thee, thou best loved son of the South, and ranged round thee are thy people, their very hearts thy rampart.