STATE CAPITOL, ILLINOIS, 1865
The body of the President lay in state in the Capitol, Springfield, Illinois—which was very richly draped—from May 3 to May 4, when it was removed to Oak Ridge Cemetery.
Lucy Hamilton Hooper, born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, January 20, 1835. In conjunction with Charles G. Leland she edited Our Daily Fare, the daily chronicle of the Philadelphia Sanitary Fair in 1864. She was assistant editor of Lippincott's Magazine from its foundation until she went to Europe in 1870. In 1874 she settled in Paris and since has been correspondent for various journals in this country. She has published Poems, with Translations from the German (Philadelphia, 1864), another volume of Poems (1871); a translation of Le Nabob, by Alphonse Daudet (Boston, 1879); and Under the Tricolor, a novel (Philadelphia, 1880). She died August 31, 1893.
[LINCOLN]
| There is a shadow on the sunny air, There is a darkness o'er the April day, We bow our heads beneath this awful cloud So sudden come, and not to pass away. O the wild grief that sweeps across our land From frozen Maine to Californian shore! A people's tears, an orphaned nation's wail, For him the good, the great, who is no more. The noblest brain that ever toiled for man, The kindest heart that ever thrilled a breast, The lofty soul unstained by soil of earth, Sent by a traitor to a martyr's rest. And his last act (O gentle, kindly heart!) The noble prompting of unselfish grace. He would not disappoint the waiting crowd Who came to gaze upon his honored face. O God, thy ways are just, and yet we find This dispensation hard to understand. Why must our Prophet's weary feet be stay'd Upon the borders of the Promised Land? He bore the heat, the burden of the day, The golden eventide he shall not see; He shall not see the old flag wave again Over a land united, saved, and free. He loved his people, and he ever lent To all our griefs a sympathizing ear; Now for the first time in these four sad years The stricken nation wails—he does not hear. [top] O never wept a land a nobler Chief! Kind heart, strong hand, true soul—yet, while we weep Let us remember, e'en amid our tears, 'Tis God who gives to his beloved sleep. So sleeps he now, the chosen man of God, No more shall care or sorrow wring his breast; The weary one and heavy laden, lies Hushed by the voice of God to endless rest. We need no solemn knell, no tolling bells, No chanted dirge, no vain words sadly said. The saddest knell that ever stirred the air Rang in those words, "Our President is dead!" |
