“Our Country” contains no word about the civil strife, although it is classed with “Poems of the War” in her volume entitled _Later Lyrics_. A prize was offered for a national song while the war was in progress, and Mrs. Howe sent in this poem, Otto Dresel composing the music. Mr. Dresel was a prominent figure in the musical world of Boston for many years and wrote a number of charming songs. The prize which had been offered for the national song was never awarded, if I remember aright, and Mr. Dresel decided to use the tune he had composed, for the “Army Hymn” of Oliver Wendell Holmes. This was “superbly sung by L. C. Campbell, assisted by the choir and band” at the opening exercises of the Great Metropolitan Fair held in New York during the Civil War, for the benefit of the Sanitary Commission. “Our Country” thus lost its musical setting, to my mother’s regret. OUR COUNTRY On primal rocks she wrote her name, Her towers were reared on holy graves, The golden seed that bore her came Swift-winged with prayer o’er ocean waves. The Forest bowed his solemn crest, And open flung his sylvan doors; Meek Rivers led the appointed Guest To clasp the wide-embracing shores; Till, fold by fold, the broidered Land To swell her virgin vestments grew, While Sages, strong in heart and hand, Her virtue’s fiery girdle drew. O Exile of the wrath of Kings! O Pilgrim Ark of Liberty! The refuge of divinest things, Their record must abide in thee. First in the glories of thy front Let the crown jewel Truth be found; Thy right hand fling with generous wont Love’s happy chain to furthest bound. Let Justice with the faultless scales Hold fast the worship of thy sons, Thy commerce spread her shining sails Where no dark tide of rapine runs. So link thy ways to those of God, So follow firm the heavenly laws, That stars may greet thee, warrior-browed, And storm-sped angels hail thy cause. O Land, the measure of our prayers, Hope of the world, in grief and wrong! Be thine the blessing of the years, The gift of faith, the crown of song. The news of Lincoln’s assassination dealt a stunning blow to our people. The rejoicings over the end of the Civil War were suddenly changed to deep sorrow, indignation, and fear. How widely the conspiracy spread we did not know. It will be remembered that other officers of the Federal Government were attacked. My mother wrote that nothing since the death of her little boy[40] had given her so much personal pain. As usual, she sought relief for her feelings in verse. “The Parricide,” written on the day of Lincoln’s funeral, expresses her love and reverence for the great man, her horror of the “Fair assassin, murder--white,” whom she bids: With thy serpent speed avoid Each unsullied household light, Every conscience unalloyed.