Sangamon, stream of the prairies, Placidly westward that flows, Far in whose city of silence Calm he has sought his repose. Over our Washington's river Sunrise beams rosy and fair, Sunset on Sangamon fairer-- Father and martyr lies there. Kings under pyramids slumber, Sealed in the Lybian sands; Princes in gorgeous cathedrals Decked with the spoil of the lands Kinglier, princelier sleeps he Couched 'mid the prairies serene, Only the turf and the willow Him and God's heaven between! Temple nor column to cumber Verdure and bloom of the sod-- So, in the vale by Beth-peor, Moses was buried of God. Break into blossom, O prairies! Snowy and golden and red; Peers of the Palestine lilies Heap for your glorious dead! Roses as fair as of Sharon, Branches as stately as palm, Odors as rich as the spices-- Cassia and aloes and balm-- Mary the loved and Salome, All with a gracious accord, Ere the first glow of the morning Brought to the tomb of the Lord Wind of the West! breathe around him Soft as the saddened air's sigh When to the summit of Pisgah Moses had journeyed to die. Clear as its anthem that floated Wide o'er the Moabite plain, Low with the wail of the people Blending its burdened refrain. Rarer, O Wind! and diviner,-- Sweet as the breeze that went by When, over Olivet's mountain, Jesus was lost in the sky. Not for thy sheaves nor savannas Crown we thee, proud Illinois! Here in his grave is thy grandeur; Born of his sorrow thy joy. Only the tomb by Mount Zion Hewn for the Lord do we hold Dearer than his in thy prairies, Girdled with harvests of gold. Still for the world, through the ages Wreathing with glory his brow, He shall be Liberty's Saviour-- Freedom's Jerusalem thou! [23] _By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company._ WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D[24] BY WALT WHITMAN I When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love. II O powerful western fallen star! O shades of night--O moody, tearful night! O great star disappear'd--O the black murk that hides the star! O cruel hands that hold me powerless--O helpless soul of me! O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. III In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,