ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN.
When dawn came and lamps grew dim, A-bra-ham Lin-coln’s pulse be-gan to fail. Soon a calm look of peace came up-on his worn face and he was gone.
The bad man who shot Lin-coln was one of that knot of folks who had sworn to do him, and some of his Cab-i-net, harm. They said that by so do-ing they would “a-venge the South.” Oth-er good men be-sides the Pres-i-dent were struck that night, but the Pres-i-dent, a-lone, met his death wound.
Those who had made the plot to do that foul deed were soon caught and put to death.
As the news went forth of the tra-gic death of A-bra-ham Lin-coln the land stood a-ghast with awe. Bells tolled, work stopped, and grief filled all hearts.
As the fun-er-al pro-ces-sion moved from the White House to the church, it was seen that the es-cort was a reg-i-ment of black men, whose free-dom from sla-ver-y had come from him whose voice and hand were now stilled by death.
The State of Il-li-nois said the last rest-ing place of A-bra-ham Lin-coln must be on that soil. Then a group of men in high pla-ces, Ad-mir-als of the Na-vy, Gen-er-als of the Ar-my, with States-men and oth-ers made a guard of hon-or, and went on that long jour-ney to the tomb with the pre-cious dust, stop-ping in man-y cit-ies that peo-ple might look once more on the dead form of the man who led all oth-er men.
On May 14, 1865, the great Cap-tain, his life work done, was laid to rest in Oak Ridge Cem-e-te-ry, Spring-field, Il-li-nois.