II

In Art's temple there were greetings, gentle hurryings of feet,

And triumphant strains of music rose amid the num

bers sweet,

Soldiers gathered, heroes gathered, women beautiful were there:

Will he come, the man Beloved, there to rest an hour from care?

Will he come who for the people

Long the cross of pain has borne,-
Prayed in silence, wept in silence,

Held the hand of God alone?

Will he share the hour of triumph, now his mighty work is done?

Here receive the people's plaudits, now the victory is won?

III

O'er thy dimpled waves, Potomac, softly now the moonbeams creep;

O'er fair Arlington's green meadows, where the brave forever sleep,

'Tis Good Friday; bells are tolling, bells of chapel beat the air

On thy quiet shores, Potomac; Arlington, serene and

fair.

And he comes, the nation's hero,

From the White House, worn with care;

Hears the name of "Lincoln !" ringing

In the thronged streets everywhere;

Hears the bells,-what memories bringing to his longuplifted heart!

Hears the plaudits of the people as he gains the Hall of

Art.

IV

Throbs the air with thrilling music, gayly onward sweeps the play;

But he little heeds the laughter, for his thoughts are far away;

And he whispers faintly, sadly, "Oft a blessed Form I

see,

Walking calmly 'mid the people on the shores of Gali

lee;

Oft I've wished His steps to follow,

Follow Him, the Man Divine;
When the cares of state are over,

I will go to Palestine,

And the paths the Blessed followed I will walk from

sea to sea,

Follow Him who healed the people on the shores of Galilee."

V

Hung the flag triumphant o'er him; and his eyes with tears were dim,

Though a thousand eyes before him lifted oft their smiles to him.

Forms of statesmen, forms of heroes, women beautiful were there,

But it was another vision that had calmed his brow of

care:

Tabor glowed in light before him,

Carmel in the evening sun;

Faith's strong armies grandly marching
Through the vale of Esdralon:

Bethany's palm-shaded gardens, where the Lord the

sisters met,

And the Pascal moon arising o'er the brow of Olivet.

VI

Now the breath of light applauses rose the templed arches through,

Stirred the folds of silken banners, mingled red and white and blue;

But the Dreamer seemed to heed not: rose the past his eyes before,―

Armies guarding the Potomac, flashing through the
Shenandoah;

Gathering armies, darkening navies,
Heroes marching forth to die;
Chickamauga, Chattanooga,

And the Battle of the Sky;

Silent prayers to free the bondmen in the ordeal of fire, And God's angel's sword uplifted to fulfill his heart's desire.

VII

Thought he of the streets of Richmond on the late triumphant day

When the swords of vanquished leaders at his feet surrendered lay;

When, amid the sweet bells ringing, all the sabled multitudes

Shouted forth the name of "Lincoln!" like a rushing of the floods;

Thought of all his heart had suffered;

All his struggles and renown;
Dreaming not that just above him

Lifted was the martyr's crown;

Seeing not the dark form stealing through the music

haunted air;

Knowing not that 'mid the triumph the betrayer's feet were there.

VIII

Flash! what scymetar of fire lit the flag with lurid light?

Hush! what means the shuddering silence, what that woman's shriek of fright?

Puff of smoke? the call-bell ringing? why has stopped the airy play?

Why the fixed looks of the players that a moment past were gay?

Why the murmurings, strange, uncertain,
Why do faces turn so white,

Why descends the affrighted curtain

Like a wild cloud 'thwart the sight?

Why the brute cries? why the tumult? Has Death found the Hall of Art?

Hush! What say those quivering whispers turning into stone each heart?

IX

April morning; flags are blowing; 'thwart each flag a

sable bar.

Dead the leader of the people; dead, the world's great

commoner.

Bells on the Potomac tolling; tolling by the Sangamon;
Tolling from the broad Atlantic to the Ocean of the
Sun.

Friend and foe clasp hands in silence,
Listen to the low prayers said,

Hear the people's benedictions,

Hear the nations praise the dead.

Lovely land of Palestine! he thy shores shall never see, But, his dream fulfilled, he follows Him who walked in

Galilee.

LINCOLN'S PASSING BELL

Lucy Larcom

(April 15th, 1865)

TOLLING, tolling, tolling!
All the bells of the land!
Lo! the patriot martyr
Taketh his journey grand;
Travels into the ages,

Bearing a hope how dear!
Into life's unknown vistas,
Liberty's great pioneer.

Tolling, tolling, tolling!

Do the budded violets know The pain of the lingering clangor Shaking their bloom out so? They open into strange sorrow, The rain of a nation's tears;

Into the saddest April

Twined with the New World's years.

Tolling, tolling, tolling!

See, they come as a cloud,

Hearts of a mighty people,

Bearing his pall and shroud!

Lifting up, like a banner,
Signals of loss and woe!
Wonder of breathless nations,
Moveth the solemn show.

Tolling, tolling, tolling!

Was it, O man beloved,—

Was it thy funeral only,

Over the land that moved?