Lincoln was still alive but unconscious when responsible persons, in a few minutes, came into control. He was carried across the street to the nearest room where he could be made as comfortable as possible. The doctors had no hope that he would ever return to consciousness. The surgeons and the nearest official friends were all that were allowed to remain in the little room with him. The pale light of a single gas jet flickered down over him. Secretary Stanton stood against the wall writing telegrams that told how the battle was going, and giving orders needed to keep the peace of that dark hour. At seven-twenty-two the next morning Lincoln's heart ceased to beat and one of the greatest characters of history had passed from life. Mr. Stanton closed the martyr's eyes, drew the sheet over his face, and said, "Now he belongs to the Ages." CHAPTER X I. THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY The nation was in mourning at the unspeakable tragedy. Friend and foe had just begun to learn how great was the difference between him and other men. Coming as it did at the close of the war, in the very dawn of peace, the assassination seemed so needless and cruel, even in the name of his bitterest foe. Walt Whitman wrote one of the most stirring appreciations of the time. "O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every wrack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring. "But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen, cold and dead. "O Captain! My Captain! Rise up and hear the bells; Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills, For you the bouquets and ribboned wreaths, for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; "Here, Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead. "My Captain does not answer me, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won. "Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck, my Captain lies, Fallen, cold and dead." William Cullen Bryant wrote the ode for the funeral services held in New York City. Two of the stanzas are as follows: "In sorrow by thy bier we stand, Amid the awe that husheth all, And speak the anguish of a land That shook with horror at thy fall. "Pure was thy life; its bloody close Has placed thee with the Sons of Light, Among the noble hearts of those Who perished in the cause of Right."