AT THE CRISIS

Mt. Vernon's shade sweet vigil keeps

Where on her breast her hero sleeps;

O passing bells, soft be your tone,

Toll gently for our Washington.

Toll, the great Warrior's strife is o'er;

Toll, for the Statesman pleads no more;

Toll — for a Man is fallen — on,

Peal out your dirge for Washington.

Toll for a people's wounded heart,

Toll for a bleeding Nation's smart,

Toll for a World!— toll sadly on —

The world hath lost a Washington.

Ring out your wailing on the air,

And let it be a voice of prayer;

He whom we greatly need is gone;—

God give another Washington.

Thus while she listened to the mournful knell

That woke sad echoes on Potomac's shore;

Saw how from Sumter's height her banner fell,

And heard, not distant far, loud battle's roar;—

Thus, while she heard the impatient bondman's moan,

Knew her own power defied, her trust betrayed;

While Treason rose to hurl her from her throne —

The Spirit of the Union mused and prayed.