irst Chronicler_: Two years again.
Desolation of battle, and long debate,
Counsels and prayers of men,
And bitterness of destruction and witless hate,
And the shame of lie contending with lie,
Are spending themselves, and the brain
That set its lonely chart four years gone by,
Knowing the word fulfilled,
Comes with charity and communion to bring
To reckoning,
To reconcile and build.

_The two together_: What victor coming from the field
Leaving the victim desolate,
But has a vulnerable shield
Against the substances of fate?
That battle's won that leads in chains
But retribution and despite,
And bids misfortune count her gains
Not stricken in a penal night.

His triumph is but bitterness
Who looks not to the starry doom
When proud and humble but possess
The little kingdom of the tomb.

Who, striking home, shall not forgive,
Strikes with a weak returning rod,
Claiming a fond prerogative
Against the armoury of God.

Who knows, and for his knowledge stands
Against the darkness in dispute,
And dedicates industrious hands,
And keeps a spirit resolute,
Prevailing in the battle, then
A steward of his word is made,
To bring it honour among men,
Or know his captaincy betrayed.

SCENE V.

_An April evening in 1865. A farmhouse near Appomattox_. GENERAL
GRANT, _Commander-in-Chief, under Lincoln, of the Northern armies,
is seated at a table with_ CAPTAIN MALINS, _an aide-de-camp. He
is smoking a cigar, and at intervals he replenishes his glass of
whiskey_. DENNIS, _an orderly, sits at a table in the corner,
writing_.

_Grant (consulting a large watch lying in front of him_): An hour and
a half. There ought to be something more from Meade by now. Dennis.

_Dennis (coming to the table_): Yes, sir.

_Grant_: Take these papers to Captain Templeman, and ask Colonel West
if the twenty-third are in action yet. Tell the cook to send some soup
at ten o'clock. Say it was cold yesterday.

_Dennis_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_.

_Grant_: Give me that map, Malins.

MALINS _hands him the map at which he is working_.

(_After studying it in silence_): Yes. There's no doubt about it.
Unless Meade goes to sleep it can only be a question of hours. Lee's a
great man, but he can't get out of that.

_Making a ring on the map with his finger_.

_Malins (taking the map again_): This ought to be the end, sir.

_Grant_: Yes. If Lee surrenders, we can all pack up for home.

_Malins_: By God, sir