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.
