DEATH OF GOVERNOR HARVEY
Bow down thy head, O Commonwealth,
'Tis fitting now for thee to weep;
Thy hopes lie buried in the grave,
In which our chieftain is asleep.
The flags at half mast sadly droop,
The bells toll out a solemn wail,
As on the southern breeze there comes,
With lightning speed, the sick'ning tale!
O, dreadful night! O, fatal step!
O, rushing river's angry tide!
Was there no quick, omniscient arm
To save a life so true and tried?
Breathe, lofty Pines, his requiem;
Sing paeans in thy forest gloom;
And ye, ye Prairies, that he loved,
Bring Flora's gems to deck his tomb.
O, State, bereft of him you loved,
O, Mother, from thy loving breast,
Our friend and brother, statesman, chief,
At noon, sinks calmly to his rest!
We cannot hide these scalding tears,
But kiss in trust this chast'ning rod;
Though reason sleeps, faith is not blind,
But sees in all the hand of God.