Than pageant kings victorious,

With bleeding captives, spoils of war.

O, ye bereaved, in mourning bowed,

Around Atlanta’s noble dead!

What woe is in your wailing land;

How hallowed is the ground ye tread!

A joyous home, now desolate,

A circle broken, sad and lone,

A vacant chair in Sable State,

A husband, father, loved one gone.