Columbia’s Grief

Columbia’s head is bowed in pain and grief;—
     Mute agony depicted in each line;
She tries to say, with him, her martyred chief:
     “It is God’s way: His will be done, not mine.”

The tears are flowing down her grief-drawn cheeks—
     Her heart with grim despair is well nigh rent
That Judas should return to earth to slay,
     With trait’rous hand, her noble President.

The week, so bright, so full of hope for him
     Who now lies ready for the silent tomb!
To-day, with quavering voice, Columbia cries,
     “Lead, Kindly Light, amid th’ encircling gloom.”

She tries so hard to say “Thy will be done.”
     The words flow forth in labored agony—
She clasps her hands and wails in deep despair—
     “Oh God in Heaven! How can such evils be?”

Columbia’s heart was light for jubilee—
     Tuned was her voice to sing the favored hymn—
“Lead, Kindly Light, amid th’ encircling gloom.”  *  *  *
     To-day she sings it for his requiem.