Complete works of Abraham Lincoln . and will be fruitful as noearthly life can be. Pass on, thou that hastovercome! Your sorrows, oh people, are hispeace! Your bells, and bands, and muffleddrums, sound triumph in his ear. Wail andweep here; God makes it echo joy and triumphthere. Pass on! Four years ago, oh, Illinois, we took fromyour midst an untried man, and from amongthe people. We return him to you a mighty; XXIV The Loss of Lincoln conquerer. Not thine any more, but the na-tions; not ours, but the worlds. Give himplace, oh, ye prairies! In the midst of thisgreat continent his dust shall r
Complete works of Abraham Lincoln . and will be fruitful as noearthly life can be. Pass on, thou that hastovercome! Your sorrows, oh people, are hispeace! Your bells, and bands, and muffleddrums, sound triumph in his ear. Wail andweep here; God makes it echo joy and triumphthere. Pass on! Four years ago, oh, Illinois, we took fromyour midst an untried man, and from amongthe people. We return him to you a mighty; XXIV The Loss of Lincoln conquerer. Not thine any more, but the na-tions; not ours, but the worlds. Give himplace, oh, ye prairies! In the midst of thisgreat continent his dust shall rest, a sacred treas-ure to myriads who shall pilgrim to that shrineto kindle anew their zeal and patriotism. Yewinds that move over the mighty places of theWest, chant his requiem! Ye people, behold amartyr whose blood, as so many articulatewords, pleads for fidelity, for law, for liberty. ^d8i ^i IhqA Jinomdoiy, Lincoln Entering Richmond, April 3, 1865 After Drawing by L. HoUis. Engraved byJ. C. Buttre. it\HU3»«tVlliik£tti>. Abraham Lincoln foully assassinated, april 14, 1865By Tom Taylor ^ You lay a wreath on murdered Lincolns bier! FoM, who with mocking pencil wont to trace,Broad for the self-complacent British sneer, His length of shambling limb, his furrowed face, His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair,His garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease, His lack of all we prize as debonair. Of power or will to shine, of art to please; You, whose smart pen backed up the pencils laugh,Judging each step, as though the way were plain; Reckless, so it could point its chiefs perplexity, or peoples pain! Beside this corpse, that bears for winding-sheetThe stars and stripes he lived to rear anew. Between the mourners at his head and , scurrile jester, is there room for you? ^ The authorship of this poem is in some doubt. It has beenattributed also to Shirley Brooks. It was originally publishedin Punch, London, May 6, 1865. XXV xxvi Abraham Lincoln
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