by William Cullen Bryant

Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare,
	Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
	The sword of power, a nation's trust.

In sorrow by thy bier we stand,
	Amid the awe that hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.

Thy task is done; the bound are free;
	We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
	The broken fetters of the slave.

Pure was thy life; its bloody close
	Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
	Who perished in the cause of Right.

Memorializing Lincoln