by Walt Whitman
Hush'd be the camps to-day;
And, soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons;
And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate,
Our dear commander's death.
No more for him life's stormy conflicts;
Nor victory, nor defeat-- no more time's dark events,
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
But sing, poet, in our name;
Sing of the love we bore him-- because you, dweller in camps,
know it truly.
As they invault the coffin there;
Sing-- as they close the doors of earth upon him-- one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.
Walt Whitman-- 1865
GOD SAVE THE UNION AND OUR MARTYR
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
FEB 12 1809
APRIL 16 1865
Related