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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.
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