“God’s Will, Not Ours, Be Done”
The hour was near to one the Nation loved;—
Sad hour, that marked the mystery of life,
When Death stood waiting by a bed of pain
Where lay the Nation’s chief, our President!
Bow’d heads and stricken hearts were with him there;
A people wept,—aye, their prayers went up
To Him who holds the destinies of time,
The grandeur of earth’s splendor in His hands;
He spoke: “Bring her, my wife, to me.” Voices
From out the long ago echoed the thought,
And told the story of love’s years gone by,—
The story beautiful; Love ever young
For them, came near and whispered once again
That sweetest vow, “Till death us part,” and then
Into that silent chamber came the wife;
They led her where the conscious statesman lay;
The dying husband’s eyes were on her there;
A smile lit up his face, and hand in hand
As once before and oft thro’ many years,
God and the angels heard love’s sweetest vows.
And so they come to us,—aye, soul to soul,
In lov’d communion, ere the moment came
When from its earthly prison-house of clay
His spirit fled to join the throng immortal.
And she, fair, frail and delicate, but strong
In wifely faith and trust, look’d up to heav’n
With him, and love’s sweet silence told again
The story of the years; into each other’s eyes
Once more they look’d in fondest tenderness; 
The chords of being trembled at the touch
Of memory’s hand; youth came once more
And sat beside them, whispering tales that none
But lovers’ hearts may ever know; manhood,
Sweet womanhood, that came to each and laid
Their hands upon “they twain” and they were one
In wedded bliss; and joy and pleasure came
And with them walk’d; thro’ flowery paths led on
Their way, tho’ ofttimes mark’d with grief and pain.
And Honor came, and on the noble brow
Of him whose modest worth was known of all
The nation placed the well-earn’d wreath of Fame;
A people claim him for their own, and she
Who with him sat, as Hope’s fair sails were spread
To catch the breeze from Love’s eternal shore.
Evening and silence! hand in hand, aye soul to soul!
For in the tear-dimm’d eyes of each, was read
The story of an earthly love that never dies.
The tired hand that clasped that other hand,
Held closer still the thin white fingers, and the voice
Once eloquent to chain the waiting throngs, murmur’d,—
“Good bye, dear heart!” “God’s will, not ours, be done!”