Lincoln is gone ? who ruled the Western Land 
From the Pacific to the Atlantic's brim ? 
And cold and nerveless lies the mighty hand 
That struck the fetters from the negro's limb. 

Lincoln is gone ? and now for ever still 
The gentle, manly, and the feeling heart 
And quench'd in might the endless will 
That never flinch'd from Duty's sternest part. 

The Negro mourns for him who wont to stand 
The foremost Champion in fair freedom's train; 
Who took the dusky Ethiope by the hand 
And from his forehead wiped the shameful stain.

The gloomy Indian hears the tale with grief 
Of his Protector's dark untimely end ? 
And sternly sorrows for the Pale-face Chief, 
The red man's brother and his constant friend. 

Now anarchy and rest overwhelm 
In mid-career our lordly ship of state 
For Lincoln's hand no longer holds the helm 
To guide her passage through the fearful strait. 

His foresight deep, his judgment keen and cool, 
Would hush Sedition's voice and Discord's jar ? 
Oh! For another year of Lincoln's rule 
To blot the footprints of intestine war. 

But though we view the blank where late he stood 
Discharging fearlessly his country's trust, 
His name shall number with the great and good 
When his proud tomb has moulder'd in the dust. 

When dove-eyed peace shall have eternal birth, 
And spread Millennial bliss along our shore 
And all the nations of the smiling earth 
Shall learn the horrid art of war no more. 

Yes! we may search from Boston's busy street 
To far Nebraska's wide untrodden plain 
But no such man as Lincoln may we meet, 
Nor shall his country see his like again.