Recompense

Is it not good, in this relaxed age
     To see the man a Nation honoreth
     With kingly power meet treacherous, red death
Steadfast and calm, and shame the assassin’s rage
With gentle words? Say, shall this not assuage
     Somewhat our grief? “God’s will be done,” he saith:
     Yea—even tho’ that Nation sorroweth!
Such faith is still its strength and heritage.

Lincoln!—Garfield!—now McKinley! All
     Tho’ slain have left us manful memories:
     And come what may thro’ Fate’s obscure decrees
O banded States! your banners shall not fall
     While there shall come forth Chieftains such as these
To rule you from yon pale, proud Capitol.