Poem by William Cullen Bryant

The Death of Lincoln

Oh, slow to smit and swift to spare, 
Gentle and merciful and just! 
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear 
The sword of power, a nation’s trust! 

In sorrow by thy bier we stand, 
Amid the awe that hushes all, 
And speak the anguish of a land 
That shook with horror at thy fall. 

Thy task is done; the bond of free; 
We bear thee to an honored grave, 
Whose proudest monument shall be 
The broken fetters of the slave. 

Pure was thy life; its bloddy close 
Hath placed thee with the sons of light, 
Among the noble host of those 
Who perished in the cause of Right.

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