Abraham Lincoln (Summer, 1865.) Dead is the roll of the drums, Like the smile of Him on high. How the tall white daisies grow, Where the grim artillery rolled! (Was it only a moon ago? It seems a century old,) And the bee hums in the clover, But our good Father is gone. There was tumbling of traitor fort, Lighting of city and port, Clasping in square and street. There was thunder of mine and gun, When his dread work all done, And his high fame full won Died the Good President New World and Old Glory New World and Old Glory And our boys had fondly thought, From the ground so dearly bought, To have met their Father's eye. But they may not see him in place Perished?-who was it said Our President dead? He has not died for a day! We mourn for a little breath Such as, late or soon, dust yields; We looked on a cold, still brow, For the pleasant season found him, In the fairest of Summer Lands; There they are all at his side, That did all men might do Then slept, with their swords, and died. HENRY HOWARD BROWnell. New World and Old Glory O Captain! My Captain! O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; New World and Old Glory Here, Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! My Captain does not answer, his lips are and still, pale My father does not feel my arm, he has no pul nor will, The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells! Fallen cold and dead. WALT WHITMAN. The Flag Goes By Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, Hats off! The flag is passing by! Blue and crimson and white it shines, Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. The colors before us fly; But more than the flag is passing by. Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, Weary marches and sinking ships; Cheers of victory on dying lips; Days of plenty and years of peace; Stately honor and reverend awe; Sign of a nation, great and strong Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; The flag is passing by! HENRY HOLCOMB BENNEtt. New World and Old Glory |