Shroud the banner! rear the cross! Consecrate a nation's loss; Gaze on that majestic sleep; Stand beside the bier to weep; Lay the gentle son of toil Proudly in his native soil; Crowned with honor, to his rest Bear the prophet of the West. Lucy Larcom was born in Beverly, Mass., in 1826. At the age of seven years she wrote stories and poems. She spent three years in school, then worked in the cotton mills. Some of her writings attracted the attention of Whittier, from whom she received encouragement. At the age of twenty she went to Illinois and there taught school for some time, and for three years studied in Monticello Female Seminary. She returned to Massachusetts and during the war wrote many patriotic poems. TOLLING Tolling, tolling, tolling! All the bells of the land! Lo, the patriot martyr Taketh his journey grand! Travels into the ages, Bearing a hope how dear! Into life's unknown vistas, Liberty's great pioneer. Tolling, tolling, tolling! See, they come as a cloud, Hearts of a mighty people, Bearing his pall and shroud; Lifting up, like a banner, Signals of loss and woe; Wonder of breathless nations, Moveth the solemn show. Tolling, tolling, tolling! Was it, O man beloved, Was it thy funeral only Over the land that moved? [Illustration: ROTUNDA, CITY HALL, NEW YORK, N. Y.] The remains of President Lincoln lay in state in the City Hall, New York, from noon April 24 to noon April 25, 1865. Visitors were admitted to view the remains, passing through the Hall two abreast. Singing societies sang dirges in the rotunda the night through. Richard Storrs Willis was born in Boston, Massachusetts, February 10, 1819, was graduated at Yale in 1841, and adopted literature as his profession. He has published musical and other poems; has edited the _New York Musical World_ and _Once a Week_, and contributed also to current literature. He wrote the following: REQUIEM OF LINCOLN Now wake the requiem's solemn moan, For him whose patriot task is done! A nation's heart stands still today With horror, o'er his martyred clay! O, God of Peace, repress the ire, Which fills our souls with vengeful fire! Vengeance is Thine--and sovereign might, Alone, can such a crime requite!