ATLANTA.
We weep with Atlanta!
Her loss is the nation’s!
With deep lamentations
Our grief is revealed;
For her hero so youthful,
So radiant and truthful,
Her loyal defender,
Lies dead on the field.
We weep with Atlanta!
O sore her bereavement!
For he whose achievement
The continent thrilled,
His last word has spoken;
In silence unbroken.
By Death’s cruel mandate,
The proud pulse is stilled.
We weep with Atlanta!
For woe crowds upon her
When the soldier of honor
Death’s countersign gives.
Keep the grasses above him,
And let those who love him
Proclaim beyond doubting
That the hero still lives.
Josephine Pollard.
New York City, Dec. 27, 1889.