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.