Common his mind (it seemed so then),
His thought the thoughts of other men:
Plain were his words, and poor—
But now they will endure!
No hasty fool, of stubborn will,
But prudent, cautious, pliant, still;
Who, since his work was good,
Would do it, as he could.
Doubting, was not ashamed to doubt,
And, lacking prescience, went without:
Often appeared to halt,
And was, of course, at fault:
Heard all opinions, nothing loth,
And loving both sides, angered both:
Was—not like justice, blind,
But watchful, clement, kind.
No hero, this, of Roman mould;
Nor like our stately sires of old:
Perhaps he was not great—
But he preserved that State!
O honest face, which all men knew!
O tender heart, but known to few!
O wonder of the age,
Cut off by tragic rage!
Peace! Let the long procession come,
For hark!—the mournful, muffled drum—
The trumpet's wail afar,—
And see! the awful car!
Peace! Let the sad procession go,
While cannon boom, and bells toll slow:
And go, thou sacred car,
Bearing our woe afar!
Go, darkly borne, from State to State,
Whose loyal, sorrowing cities wait
To honor all they can
The dust of that good man!
Go, grandly borne, with such a train
As greatest kings might die to gain:
The just, the wise, the brave
Attend thee to the grave!