Morton

The warm pulse of the nation has grown chill;
    The muffled heart of Freedom, like a knell,
Throbs solemnly for one whose earthly will
    Wrought every mission well.

Whose glowing reason towered above the sea
    Of dark disaster like a beacon light,
And led the Ship of State, unscathed and free,
    Out of the gulfs of night.

When Treason, rabid-mouthed, and fanged with steel,
    Lay growling o'er the bones of fallen braves,
And when beneath the tyrant's iron heel
    Were ground the hearts of slaves,

And War, with all his train of horrors, leapt
    Across the fortress-walls of Liberty
With havoc e'en the marble goddess wept
    With tears of blood to see.

Throughout it all his brave and kingly mind
    Kept loyal vigil o'er the patriot's vow,
And yet the flag he lifted to the wind
    Is drooping o'er him now.

And Peace - all pallid from the battle-field
    When first again it hovered o'er the land
And found his voice above it like a shield,
    Had nestled in his hand.

    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .

O throne of State and gilded Senate halls -
    Though thousands throng your aisles and galleries -
How empty are ye! and what silence falls
    On your hilarities!

And yet, though great the loss to us appears,
    The consolation sweetens all our pain -
Though hushed the voice, through all the coming years
    Its echoes will remain.