Classic Poem

His work is done, his toil is o'er;
A martyr for our land he fell—
The land he loved, that loved him well;
Honor his name for evermore!

Let all the world its tribute pay,
For glorious shall be his renown;
Though duty's was his only crown,
Yet duty's path is glory's way.

For he was great without pretence;
A man of whom none whispered shame,
A man who knew nor guile nor blame;
Good in his every influence.

On battle-field, in council-hall,
Long years with sterling service rife
He gave us, and at last his life—
Still unafraid at duty's call.

Let the last solemn pageant move,
The nation's grief to consecrate
To him struck down by maniac hate
Amid a mighty nation's love;

And though the thought it solace gives,
Beside the martyr's grave to-day
We feel 't is almost hard to say:
“God reigns and the Republic lives!”