Secretary of War Stanton used to get out of patience with

Hear the words of Elihu Root, who looked back upon the days of war and judgment, and spoke thus: “Secretary of War Stanton used to get out of patience with Lincoln because he was all the time pardoning men who ought to be shot.” In this brief remembrance, the heart of Abraham Lincoln is unveiled: a leader who bore the weight of justice yet chose again and again the path of mercy. Where others saw treason, cowardice, and disobedience worthy of death, Lincoln often saw frailty, humanity, and the chance for redemption.

The origin of this saying lies in the terrible days of the American Civil War, when brothers fought against brothers and the fields of the republic were soaked with blood. Edwin Stanton, the Secretary of War, was a man of iron, stern and unyielding, who believed discipline must be absolute if the Union was to be preserved. Soldiers who deserted, who failed in duty, who fled in fear—Stanton judged them with the cold hand of law, demanding execution. Yet Lincoln, president and commander-in-chief, was not so swift to condemn. He saw beyond the crime to the trembling heart of the man.

Indeed, many tales are told of Lincoln’s pardons. Once, a young soldier, sentenced to die for falling asleep at his post, was brought before him. The law was clear: such failure endangered the lives of many, and death was the penalty. Yet Lincoln, upon learning that the boy had marched for days without rest, could not bring himself to sign the warrant. “I could not afford to lose this man; he is too good a sleeper,” he joked with sorrowful kindness, and spared the youth’s life. To Stanton this was weakness; to Lincoln, it was strength—the strength of compassion.

This conflict between Stanton’s iron and Lincoln’s mercy reveals a greater truth: the leader’s heart must balance justice and kindness. Too much severity, and the people are broken, serving only from fear. Too much leniency, and the bonds of order unravel. Stanton saw only the survival of the army; Lincoln saw also the survival of the nation’s soul. For if the Union was to be preserved, it must be preserved not only by victory in war, but by the spirit of mercy that would heal the land after the swords were sheathed.

History shows us that the mercy of Lincoln was not weakness, but wisdom. When the war ended, and calls arose for vengeance upon the defeated South, Lincoln again lifted the banner of compassion. “With malice toward none, with charity for all,” he declared, seeking to bind the wounds of the nation. Stanton himself, once impatient with Lincoln’s pardons, would later stand weeping by his deathbed, declaring, “Now he belongs to the ages.” For in time, even the iron-hearted secretary saw the power of mercy greater than the sword.

The lesson for us is profound: to lead, to govern, to live well, we must not let impatience harden our hearts. The easy road is to condemn, to punish, to demand the letter of the law. The harder, nobler road is to look deeper, to see the humanity even in failure, and to grant mercy where it can heal without destroying. Lincoln teaches us that one pardon may save not only a life, but the dignity of a nation.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, practice mercy in your dealings. Do not abandon justice, for order must stand; but temper it always with compassion. When others clamor for harshness, dare to ask: can this soul be redeemed? When your patience wanes, remember Lincoln, who bore the burden of war yet would not crush the broken. If even in the hour of the Union’s greatest peril he chose mercy again and again, then surely you, in your smaller trials, can choose the same. In this balance of justice and compassion lies the true greatness of the human spirit.