 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
OUR GOOD PRESIDENT.
Our sun hath gone down at the noon-day,
The heavens are black;
And over the morning, the shadows
Of night-time are back.
The heavens are black;
And over the morning, the shadows
Of night-time are back.
Stop the proud boasting mouth of the cannon;
Hush the mirth and the shout;—
God is God! and the ways of Jehovah
Are past finding out.
Hush the mirth and the shout;—
God is God! and the ways of Jehovah
Are past finding out.
Lo! the beautiful feet on the mountains,
That yesterday stood,
The white feet that came with glad tidings
Are dabbled in blood.
That yesterday stood,
The white feet that came with glad tidings
Are dabbled in blood.
The Nation that firmly was settling
The crown on her head,
Sits like Rizpah, in sackcloth and ashes,
And watches her dead.
The crown on her head,
Sits like Rizpah, in sackcloth and ashes,
And watches her dead.
Who is dead? who, unmoved by our wailing,
Is lying so low?
O my Land, stricken dumb in your anguish,
Do you feel, do you know,
Is lying so low?
O my Land, stricken dumb in your anguish,
Do you feel, do you know,
That the hand which reached out of the darkness
Hath taken the whole;
Yea, the arm and the head of the people,—
The heart and the soul?
Hath taken the whole;
Yea, the arm and the head of the people,—
The heart and the soul?
And that heart, o'er whose dread awful silence
A nation has wept;
Was the truest, and gentlest, and sweetest,
A man ever kept.
A nation has wept;
Was the truest, and gentlest, and sweetest,
A man ever kept.
Why, he heard from the dungeons, the rice-fields,
The dark holds of ships
Every faint, feeble cry which oppression
Smothered down on men's lips.
The dark holds of ships
Every faint, feeble cry which oppression
Smothered down on men's lips.
In her furnace, the centuries had welded
Their fetter and chain;
And like withes, in the hands of his purpose,
He snapped them in twain.
Their fetter and chain;
And like withes, in the hands of his purpose,
He snapped them in twain.
Who can be what he was to the people,—
What he was to the state?
Shall the ages bring to us another
As good and as great?
What he was to the state?
Shall the ages bring to us another
As good and as great?
Our hearts with their anguish are broken,
Our wet eyes are dim;
For us is the loss and the sorrow,
The triumph for him!
Our wet eyes are dim;
For us is the loss and the sorrow,
The triumph for him!
For, ere this, face to face with his Father
Our martyr hath stood;
Giving into his hand a white record,
With its great seal of blood!
Our martyr hath stood;
Giving into his hand a white record,
With its great seal of blood!
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |