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.