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look upon the legitimate fruit of Southern principles, and from this time forth, in the name of God and humanity, come out from among them and be separate, and touch not the unclean thing.

And still we linger by the open grave. One look more ere the clods fall and the tomb enfolds him in its cold embrace. Is it not some ghastly nightmare--some dreadful dream from which we shall awake by and by to find the nation still undisgraced by murder, and him still at the helm ? Alas, alas! the cold reality will not depart at our bidding. Abraham Lincoln is dead. Gone from a nation's burdens and a nation's love. Stricken down in the fore front of the battle; his great work done, yet with his armor on, in the high noon of a noble, successful, God-fearing manhood. And by that sterling worth, that simple piety, that kindness and tenderness, that never faltering faith in God and humanity, he, being dead, yet speaketh. Aye, speaketh. I hear his voice come down to us from the tranquil heights of his eternal rest bidding us be true to ourselves, true to our national idea, true to freedom, true to God, daring to be just though the Heavens fall. I hear him saying to the nation: “Away with

these idle tears, these vain regrets; ye have no time now for lamentation ;

• The day of the Lord is at hand, at hand,
Its storms roll up the sky.'

and the meekest of saints may find stern work to do. Up and be doing !"

We hear thee beloved leader, and here, beside thy tomb, we put off our sackcloth and ashes and take our armor to ourselves again. . We turn our faces to the future, and from under the shadow of this dispensation we go forth with girded loins and trimmed lamps and in God's strength to work out our destiny. We leave thee with God on thy mount of vision, and press on at the beck of our new leader to that promised land which thou sawest from afar, but wert not permitted to enter; press on, bearing the inspiration of thy courage into battles yet to come.

And thou shalt be gloriously avenged one day, Thou shalt be avenged when our Union, the object of thy dearest desire, shall stand cemented anew, “now and forever, one and inseparable” Thou shalt be avenged in every look which down-trodden humanity shall send across the sea to our land, then, as never before, the home of the oppressed.

Thou shalt be

avenged when one heart and one mind shall animate the people; when Americans shall know no North, no South, and one starry flag, the dear old banner which was the joy of thine eyes, cover with its ample folds the children of those who now thirst for each others blood. Thou shalt be avenged when the echo of war shall have died out from our hillsides, and the war desolated land be blossoming like a paradise beneath the willing hand of free industry. Thou shalt be avenged when, beneath the Palmetto’s shade, Africa's sons shall teach their children to lisp thy name, and bedew thine immortal charter with their grateful tears. Oh! even amid the grand realities which ere this have dawned upon thy vision, thou shalt not surely be so far removed from sympathy with the land thou lovedst and diedst for, that thou wilt not follow her career with thy spirit gaze, and smile with heavenly joy, when thou shalt see peace within her walls and prosperity within her palaces. And so, till our work be done, and we follow thee into the silence, we bid thee farewell. Sleep! beloved ruler! Rest! great, tender, careworn heart! Sleep sweetly in the bosom of the West, while the gratitude of the downtrodden and the love of the nation gather like clustering

vines round thy tomb, and thy monument points through the years to Heaven, telling the oppressed of a liberator and the tyrant of an avenger.

“Uplifted high in heart and hope are we,
Until we doubt not that, for one so true
There must be other, nobler work to do,
And viotor he must ever be.
For tho' the giant ages heave the hill,
And break the shore, and evermore
Make and break and work their will ;
Tho' worlds on worlds in myriad myriads roll
Round us, each with different powers,
And other forms of life than ours,
What know we greater than the soul ?
On God and godlike men we build our trust.
Hush ! The dead-march wails in the people's ears :
The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears;
The black earth yawns ; the mortal disappears;
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust:
He is gone who seemed so great,
Gone, but nothing can bereave him
Of the force he made his own
Being here, and we believe him
Something far advanced in state
Ard that he wears a truer crown
Than any wreath that man can weave him.
But speak no more of his renown,
Lay your earthly fancies down
And in the vast cathedral leave him;
God accept him-Christ receive him.”

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