Poems (Larcom)/Tolling
TOLLING.
[April 15, 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.
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.
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.
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?—
Veiled by that hour of anguish,
Borne with the Rebel rout,
Forth into utter darkness,
Slavery's corse went out.
Was it, O man beloved,—
Was it thy funeral only,
Over the land that moved?—
Veiled by that hour of anguish,
Borne with the Rebel rout,
Forth into utter darkness,
Slavery's corse went out.