Abraham Lincoln

(Summer, 1865.)

Dead is the roll of the drums,
And the distant thunders die,
They fade in the far-off sky;
And a lovely summer comes,

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,
As the pleasant June comes on;
Aye, the wars are all over,—

But our good Father is gone.

There was tumbling of traitor fort,
Flaming of traitor fleet-

Lighting of city and port,

Clasping in square and street.

There was thunder of mine and gun,
Cheering by mast and tent,—

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,
To-day, in marching by,

From the ground so dearly bought,
And the fields so bravely fought,

To have met their Father's eye.

But they may not see him in place
Nor their ranks be seen of him;
We look for the well-known face,
And the splendor is strangely dim.
Perished?-who was it said
Our Leader had passed away?
Dead? Our President dead?

He has not died for a day!

We mourn for a little breath

Such as, late or soon, dust yields;
But the Dark Flower of Death
Blooms in the fadeless fields.

We looked on a cold, still brow,
But Lincoln could yet survive;
He never was more alive,
Never nearer than now.

For the pleasant season found him,
Guarded by faithful hands,

In the fairest of Summer Lands;
With his own brave Staff around him,
There our President stands.

There they are all at his side,
The noble hearts and true,

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,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the

bells;

Rise up for you the flag is flung-for you the up-f

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!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse

nor will,

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with
object won;

Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,

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,
A flash of color beneath the sky:

Hats off!

The flag is passing by!

Blue and crimson and white it shines,
Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines.
Hats off!

The colors before us fly;

But more than the flag is passing by.

Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great,
Fought to make and to save the State:

Weary marches and sinking ships;

Cheers of victory on dying lips;

Days of plenty and years of peace;
March of a strong land's swift increase;
Equal justice, right and law,

Stately honor and reverend awe;

Sign of a nation, great and strong
To ward her people from foreign wrong:
Pride and glory and honor,-all
Live in the colors to stand or fall.

Hats off!

Along the street there comes

A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums;
And loyal hearts are beating high:
Hats off!

The flag is passing by!

HENRY HOLCOMB BENNETT.

New World and Old Glory