Be thine the blessing of the years,
The gift of faith, the crown of song.
The news of Lincoln’s assassination dealt a stunning blow to our people. The rejoicings over the end of the Civil War were suddenly changed to deep sorrow, indignation, and fear. How widely the conspiracy spread we did not know. It will be remembered that other officers of the Federal Government were attacked. My mother wrote that nothing since the death of her little boy[40] had given her so much personal pain. As usual, she sought relief for her feelings in verse. “The Parricide,” written on the day of Lincoln’s funeral, expresses her love and reverence for the great man, her horror of the “Fair assassin, murder—white,” whom she bids:
With thy serpent speed avoid
Each unsullied household light,
Every conscience unalloyed.
As usual, compassion followed anger. “Pardon,” written a few days later, after the death of Wilkes Booth, is the better poem of the two.
PARDON
Wilkes Booth—April 26, 1865
Pains the sharp sentence the heart in whose wrath it was uttered,