s are his pallbearers, and the cannon beats the hours with solemn
progression. Dead, dead, dead, he yet speaketh. Is Washington dead? Is
Hampden dead? Is David dead? Is any man that was ever fit to live
dead? Disenthralled of flesh, and risen in the unobstructed sphere
where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work. His life
now is grafted upon the infinite, and will be fruitful as no earthly
life can be.

Pass on, thou that hast overcome. Your sorrows, O people, are his
peace. Your bells and bands and muffled drums sound triumph in his
ear. Wail and weep here; God made it echo joy and triumph there. Pass
on.

Four years ago, O Illinois, we took from your midst an untried man,
and from among the people. We return him to you a mighty conqueror.
Not thine any more, but the Nation's; not ours, but the world's. Give
him place, O ye prairies. In the midst of this great continent his
dust shall rest, a sacred treasure to myriads who shall pilgrim to
that shrine to kindle anew their zeal and patriotism. Ye winds that
move over the mighty places of the West, chant his requiem. Ye people,
behold a martyr whose blood as so many articulate words, pleads for
fidelity, for law, for liberty.

HYMN[16]

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

O Thou of soul and sense and breath,
The ever-present Giver,
Unto Thy mighty angel, death,
All flesh thou didst deliver;
What most we cherish, we resign,
For life and death alike are Thine,
Who reignest Lord forever!

Our hearts lie buried in the dust
With him, so true and tender,
The patriot's stay, the people's trust,
The shield of the offender;
Yet every murmuring voice is still,
As, bowing to Thy sovereign will,
Our best loved we surrender.

Dear Lord, with pitying eye behold
This martyr generation,
Which Thou, through trials manifold,
Art showing Thy salvation!
O let the blood by murder split
Wash out Thy stricken children's guilt,
And sanctify our nation!

Be Thou Thy orphaned Israel's friend,
Forsake Thy people never,
In One our broken Many blend,
That none again may sever!
Hear us, O Father, while we raise
With trembling lips our song of praise,
And bless Thy name forever!

[16] _By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company._

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Foully Assassinated April 14, 1865

BY TOM TAYLOR (MARK LEMON) IN LONDON PUNCH.