  JUNE 10, 1891. Let the sad drums mutter low, And the serried ranks move slow, And the thousand hearts beat hushed along the street; For a mighty heart is still, And a great, unconquered will, Hath passed to meet the conqueror all must meet. Outworn without assoil From a great life’s lengthened toil, Laurelled with a half a century’s fame; With banners draped and furled, ’Mid the sorrow of a world, We lay him down with fitting pomp and state, With slumber in his breast, To his long, eternal rest We lay him down, this man who made us great. Him of the wider vision, Who had one hope, elysian, To mould a mighty empire toward the west; Who through the hostile years, ’Mid the wrangling words, like spears, Still bore this titan vision in his breast. We stand at death’s dim gates Where his mighty soul awaits Somewhere the long, long silence of the years. And the marble of his lips Doth all our woe eclipse, Death’s awful peace rolls back upon our tears. Greater than all sorrow That our hearts can borrow; Loftier than our fleeting, human praise, Let the sad drums mutter low, And the serried ranks move slow, And the thousand hearts beat hushed along the street; For a mighty heart is still, And a great, unconquered will, Hath passed to meet the conqueror all must meet. Transcriber's Notes: The cover image was created by the transcriber, and is in the public domain. Uncertain or antiquated spellings or ancient words were not corrected. Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered. Some poems in the original had a full page identifying the poem as well as a heading at the beginning of the poem. The full page poem headings have been removed from this edition as being redundant. |
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