I thank God that I can say on my death bed that I am a virtuous

The words of Belle Boyd, spoken in the stillness between life and eternity — “I thank God that I can say on my death bed that I am a virtuous woman” — are the words of a soul standing unafraid before its Maker. They rise not as mere confession, but as a victory cry, the song of a heart that has fought, suffered, and endured with integrity. In those few words, we hear the echo of ancient valor — for what is virtue, if not the armor of the soul, the strength that endures when all else falls away? Hers is not the boast of pride, but the quiet triumph of one who has walked through fire and remained pure.

Belle Boyd, known in her youth as the “Cleopatra of the Secession,” was no gentle recluse of virtue’s easy kind. She lived in the shadow of war, during the great American conflict that tore brother from brother. As a Confederate spy, she risked her life many times for the cause she believed just, carrying messages through enemy lines, using wit and courage where weapons could not reach. Her beauty became her disguise, her intelligence her sword. Many condemned her; many adored her. But through the chaos and judgment, her compass was her virtue — not in the narrow sense of chastity alone, but in the ancient meaning of the word: moral strength, courage, and righteousness of spirit.

To say, at life’s end, that one has lived virtuously is to claim the rarest of treasures. It is to stand at the edge of eternity and feel no shame in one’s reflection. For riches fade, fame grows dim, and even victory loses its taste — but the soul that has kept its honor shines brighter than any crown. Boyd’s gratitude to God in her final hour shows us that virtue is not the absence of sin, but the perseverance of goodness in the midst of trial. It is to walk the perilous path of life and still be able to say, “I remained true to what was right.”

The ancients, too, revered this sacred quality. The Romans called it virtus — the power of moral excellence, the nobility that made a person worthy of remembrance. They believed a virtuous life was a kind of immortality, that one’s name could live forever in the hearts of the righteous. So it was with Boyd: whatever sides men took in the war she served, none could deny her courage, her devotion, or her unbroken spirit. She lived by her convictions, and in doing so, she became an emblem of strength and dignity, the kind that outlasts armies and banners.

Consider the lesson of her life, O children of the modern age, so easily swayed by convenience and vanity. In times of comfort, virtue may seem old-fashioned; in times of struggle, it becomes the only thing worth keeping. To be virtuous is to be steadfast when the world wavers, to guard your conscience when all around you falls to temptation. It is to live so that when the final hour comes — when all masks are stripped away — you may, like Belle Boyd, look upward and give thanks without regret.

Virtue is not born of perfection, but of purpose. You may stumble, you may err, but if your heart remains pure in intention, if you rise again to walk the road of righteousness, your life will shine with the same radiance. Do not seek the applause of men, for their praise is fleeting; seek instead the approval of your own soul, and of the divine that witnesses all. Be humble in your strength, generous in your truth, and fearless in your morality. For the day will come when no title or treasure will matter — only the question: Did you live with virtue?

So, let this be your guiding light: live so that you may thank God at the end. Let every deed be measured by honor, every word by kindness, every choice by truth. Do not wait for your deathbed to claim virtue — build it now, moment by moment, with courage and compassion. Then, when the twilight comes for you, you too may lift your eyes, unafraid, and say with peace in your heart, “I thank God that I have lived as a virtuous soul.” For that, and that alone, is the truest form of victory — one that time, death, and history cannot erase.