OUR DEAD PRESIDENT.
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Crashing its way through every heart, Filling the sternest soul with gloom,Till North and South, in common grief, Clasp hands above his open tomb.
Binding the fragrant immortelles Of deathless sorrow wet with tears,To wreathe around his "storied urn," And bloom in all the future years.
Each tender woman's heart must feel Some pang for her who mourns to-dayThe breaking of her dearest ties, Life's proudest honors snatched away.
The desolation that o'erspreads This land to its remotest part,Is lost beside the mighty grief That sits within her widowed heart.
The world that crowned him with its bays May cherish him with fleeting thought,But all her life will wear the trace Of this sad ruin fate has wrought.
