PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S FUNERAL HYMN.

I.

WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloomed,

WH

And the great star* early drooped in the western sky in the night,

I mourned and yet shall mourn with ever-returning

spring.

O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring ; Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love.

2.

O powerful, western, fallen star!

O shades of night! O moody, tearful night!

O great star disappeared! O the black murk that hides the star!

* "The evening star, which, as many may remember, night after night, in the early part of that eventful spring, hung low in the west with unusual and tender brightness."—JOHN BURROUGHS.

O cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of

me!

O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul !

3.

In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the whitewashed palings,

Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

With many a pointed blossom, rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,

With every leaf a miracle: and from this bush in the door-yard,

With delicate-coloured blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves

of rich green,

A sprig, with its flower, I break.

4.

In the swamp, in secluded recesses,

A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary, the thrush,

The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song:

Song of the bleeding throat!

Death's outlet song of life—for well, dear brother, I know, If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou wouldst surely die.

5.

Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, Amid lanes, and through old woods, where lately the violets peeped from the ground, spotting the grey

debris ;

Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes—passing the endless grass;

Passing the yellow-speared wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising;

Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards;

Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.

6.

Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,

Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land,

With the pomp of the inlooped flags, with the cities draped

in black,

With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veiled women standing,

With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of

the night,

With the countless torches lit—with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads,

With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre

faces,

With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn;

With all the mournful voices of the dirges, poured around the coffin,

The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—Where amid these you journey,

With the tolling, tolling bells' perpetual clang;

Here! coffin that slowly passes,

I give you my sprig of lilac.

Nor for you, for one, alone;

7.

Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring:

For fresh as the morning—thus would I chant a song for you, O sane and sacred Death.

All over bouquets of roses,

O Death! I cover you over with roses and early lilies; But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first, Copious, I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes: With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,

For you and the coffins all of you, O Death.

8.

O western orb, sailing the heaven!