  I.D Dead! But not where the flashing guns Bring in a moment’s glittering space Death,—and heaven—and deathless fame— To Victory’s sons. Dead! But not where the crimson flame, Leaping fierce in a cruel grace, From the earthly clod Burns away all pitiful dross Till a martyr’s soul on fiery cross Ascends to God. Whose life was martyrdom Shall be spared a martyr’s death In winning a martyr’s crown. No struggle for restless breath;— A life laid calmly down;— Eloquent lips grown dumb;— Only for us the pain, And the agony of loss; Only for us the test; For him, the wonderful gain, For him, a longed-for rest. II.Dead! And the mother state, Mother of noble sons, Reaches her yearning arms. Give him back to her now! Cold is the kingly brow, Noblest of noble ones! He cannot serve you now; Unheeding earthly things, The royal soul, so great To shield from threatening harms, Has passed through a silent gate That never outward swings. Living, the world had need Of him and his deathless name;— Living, the world had need Of him and his stainless fame;— Living, we knew her need Of him, and confessed her claim;— Dead, he is only ours! Cover his bier with flowers; Give him back to us now! III.Nay! Let Massachusetts wait! In the capitol of the great Let the statesman lie in state. Let the house be draped in woe; Let the sentinel below Pace solemnly to and fro. All night let the tireless street Echo the sad, slow feet Of those who come and go. All day let the voiceless street In silence then repeat The name we honor so. Let the Senate chamber ring Once more with his eloquence, The eloquence of his death! Let choicest flowers bring, Delicate and intense, Tribute of fragrant breath. For ever the gentlest thing With strongest love will cling To one so grandly great. Let Massachusetts wait! Honored by every land, Around him there shall stand The noblest of each state! And a nation’s tears be shed For our Massachusetts’ dead! IV.Living, there was none so poor That he need to hesitate Loftiest aid from him to claim;— Dead, there is not one so great, Standing now at his right hand, But may tremble so to stand; Lest the touchstone of that pure Stainless soul and deathless fame Prove all poor who seem so great! V.Now, To his mother where she stands, Envied by the childless lands, Bring him back with reverent hands. Lonely mother, it is well That your sorrowing lips should tell Once again repentant woe For the wound of long ago, For rebuke that hurt him so! No reproof could alienate Patriot soul from patriot state;— Grandly patient, he could wait, Cancelling reproachful past, Words that almost came too late! “You were right and we were wrong!” Strong and clear they came at last; And his sovereign spirit, great In forgiveness for the long Silent strain so gently borne, Hearing Massachusetts mourn For the wrong that she had done Turned to her, her reverent son. Ere her last word met his ear, He had answered—he is here! VI.Here! At the city gates! And the long procession waits To bear him to his bier. No sound of muffled drums Tells that a hero comes; No volleying cannon roll The loss of a leader’s soul; Not with the aid of these Had he won his victories; He never loved such voice;— Let not these be our choice To give this pain relief; For the people’s hearts are mute With the passion of their grief. Break not upon his peace With Massachusetts guns! Only a tolling bell To the sorrowing state shall tell That the noblest of her sons,— Highest in the world’s repute, Lowliest in the toil he gave,— Given of God this swift release, Comes at last from her to crave For the service that he gave The guerdon of a grave! VII.Dark Over all, Falls the twilight like a pall. Kindle not the restless flare Of the midnight torches’ glare; Let the restful stars look down, Silent through the clear, cold air, High and pure as his renown! Pale against the evening sky Burns the banner that ye drape With the heavy folds of crape; And ye have no need to tie All its fluttering crimson back With those heavy |
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