“O Grave! Where Is Thy Victory?”

In bitter, voiceless, unavailing grief,
          The Nation mourns its Chief—
          And reverent bends
While on the land the hush of death descends.

          Dead! the simple, kindly man:
          Dead! the plain republican;
          Dead! the great American;
          In flower of manhood and renown
          By cruel treason stricken down.
No noble life was ever spent in vain;
The martyr suffers that the cause may gain;
          God’s path is through the deep—
          And we who weep
          The hero lost, shall reap
Fruit of his sowing, though the sower sleep.
          The Nation mourns its Chief
In bitter, voiceless, unavailing grief.

Be ours the lot to follow where he led;
Here in the sacred presence of the dead
Let us take oath that Liberty and Law—
Twin safeguards by our ancestors ordained—
          Shall, without flaw,
          Be faithfully maintained.

          But let us also swear
To hunt the mad beast, Anarchy, where’er
He burrows, venomous with lust of blood,
          Treading to mud
All holy things, befouling humankind,
Unclean, corrupt, with hate and envy blind—
          Anathema on him declare—
          So, brothers, let us swear.

But let us not in righteous wrath forget
Justice is passionless and even-handed,
The vilest felon shall discharge his debt
In orderly procedure as commanded:
          Till every voice repeat with awe—
          “Thus saith the Law.” [200][201]

          Now lift our martyr up
          Who hath drained the bitter cup,
          Who hath said, “God’s will is best”;
          Let us bear him to his rest,
          Give him all the honors due
          To a soldier tried and true,
          To a statesman broad and great,
To a father of the people and a chieftain of the State.

          Party passion disappears,
          All the Nation is in tears,
          See the little children sobbing,
          Women’s tender hearts are throbbing
          As they think of her he left,
          Of his loving care bereft
          In her weakness and her need;
And the sterner hearts of men with pity bleed.

With stately solemn ceremonies pay
Our tribute of respect to his poor clay;
Let guns salute and muffled drums resound,
That all may know he passes, homeward bound;
Halfmast the flags and toll the funeral bells,
While chant of dirge and anthem upward swells;
The great Republic sorrows for her son,
          But after all is done,
Know that the form we lay beneath the sod
          Is but the broken prison
          Of the bright soul arisen
In joy to life eternal and to God.
          O, mystery beyond our ken!
                          Amen.