Chapter VI

Here!
At the city gates!
And the long procession waits
To bear him to his bier.
No sound of muffled drums
Tells that a hero comes;
No volleying cannon roll
The loss of a leader’s soul;
Not with the aid of these
Had he won his victories;
He never loved such voice;--
Let not these be our choice
To give this pain relief;
For the people’s hearts are mute
With the passion of their grief.
Break not upon his peace
With Massachusetts guns!
Only a tolling bell
To the sorrowing state shall tell
That the noblest of her sons,--
Highest in the world’s repute,
Lowliest in the toil he gave,--
Given of God this swift release,
Comes at last from her to crave
For the service that he gave
The guerdon of a grave!