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 forevermore! | |
| |
| Let all the world its tribute pay, | 5 |
| 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 pretense; | |
| A man of whom none whispered shame, | 10 |
| 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— | 15 |
| 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; | 20 |
| |
| And though the thought its solace gives, | |
| Beside the martyr’s grave to-day | |
| We feel ’tis almost hard to say: | |
| “God reigns and the republic lives!” | |
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