Whence comes our symbol? Surely God must speak; No less than he can make us heed or pause: Self-seekers we, too busy or too weak To search beyond our daily lives and laws. 'Gainst things occult our earth-turned eyes rebel; No sound of destiny can reach our ears; We have no time for dreaming--Hark! a knell,-- A knell at midnight! All the nation hears! A second grievous throb! The dreamers wake; The merchant's soul forgets his goods and ships; The humble workmen from their slumbers break; The women raise their eyes with quivering lips; The miner rests upon his pick to hear; The printer's type stops midway from the case; The solemn sound has reached the roisterer's ear, And brought the shame and sorrow to his face. Again it booms! Oh, mystic veil, upraise!-- Behold, 'tis lifted! On the darkness drawn, A picture, lined with light! The people's gaze, From sea to sea, beholds it till the dawn: A death-bed scene--a sinking sufferer lies, Their chosen ruler, crowned with love and pride; Around, his counsellors, with streaming eyes; His wife, heart-broken, kneeling by his side: Death's shadow holds her, it will pass too soon; She weeps in silence--bitterest of tears; He wanders softly--Nature's kindest boon, And as he whispers all the country hears. For him the pain is past, the struggle ends: His cares and honors fade: his younger life In peaceful Mentor comes, with dear old friends; His mother's arms take home his sweet young wife; He stands among the students, tall and strong, And teaches truths republican and grand: He moves--ah, pitiful!--he sweeps along, O'er fields of carnage leading his command! He speaks to crowded faces; round him surge Thousands and millions of excited men: He hears them cheer, sees some great light emerge, Is borne as on a tempest: then--ah, then! The fancies fade, the fever's work is past; A moment's pang--then recollections thrill: He feels the faithful lips that kiss their last, His heart beats once in answer, and is still! The curtain falls; but hushed, as if afraid, The people wait, tear-stained, with heaving breast; 'Twill rise again, they know, when he is laid With Freedom, in the Capitol, at rest. Once more they see him, in his coffin there, As Lincoln lay in blood-stained martyr sleep; The stars and stripes across his honored bier, While Freedom and Columbia o'er him weep. _Boston Globe._ REJOICE. BY JOAQUIN MILLER. "_Bear me out of the battle, for lo! I am sorely wounded._" I.