But where blest Liberty so widely reigns,
And Peace and Plenty mark a smiling land,
Here the mad wretch its fair white record stains,
And blurs its beauties with a "bloody hand."
Here the elect of millions, and the pride
Of those who own his mild and peaceful rule,—
Here virtue sinks and yields the crimson tide,
Beneath the vile unreason of a fool!
FATHERLESS.
BY KATE TANNATT WOODS.
Over the land the tidings sped,
"The leader has fallen, our chief is dead."
And over the land a cry of pain
Began and ended with Garfield's name.
"He is dead," said each, with tearful eye:
"So strong, so true, why must he die?"
And the children paused that autumn day
To talk of the good man passed away.
Over the land when the tidings came,
Even the babies lisped his name;
And youthful eyes grew sad that day
For the fatherless children far away.
Fatherless,—word with a life of pain;
Fatherless,—never complete again;
Always to miss, and never to know,
The joy of his greeting,—his love below.
Missing the cheerful smile each day,
Missing his care in studies or play,
Missing each hour, each day, each year,
The sound of a voice so tender and dear.
Fatherless! only the children can tell
The sound of that dreary funeral knell;
For only they, in all coming years,
Find the roses of youth bedewed with tears.