Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/208

Oh, how they loved him ! They stood there,
Thronging the road, the street, the square,
With hushed lips locked in silent prayer,
Uncovered heads and streaming eyes,
Breathless as when a father dies.
The records of that ghostly ride,
Past town and field at morning-tide.

When life s full stream is wont to gush
Through all its ways with boisterous rush,
The records note that once a hound
Had barked, and once was heard the sound
Of cart-wheels rumbling on the stones
And once, mid stifled sobs and groans,
One man dared audibly lament,
And cried, " God bless the President ! "
Always the waiting crowds to send
A God-speed to his journey s end
The anxious whisper, brow of gloom,
As in a sickness-sacred room,
Till his ear drank with ecstasy
The rhythmic thunders of the sea.
Tears for the smitten fatherless,
The wife s, the mother s life-distress,
To whom the million-throated moan
From throne and hut, may not atone
For one hushed voice, one empty chair,
One presence missing everywhere.
But only words of joy and cheer,