Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/208

Oh, how they loved him! They stood there,
Thronging the road, the street, the square,
With hushed lips locked in silent prayer,
Uncovered heads and streaming eyes,
Breathless as when a father dies.
The records of that ghostly ride,
Past town and field at morning-tide.

When life's full stream is wont to gush
Through all its ways with boisterous rush,
—The records note that once a hound
Had barked, and once was heard the sound
Of cart-wheels rumbling on the stones
And once, mid stifled sobs and groans,
One man dared audibly lament,
And cried, "God bless the President! "
Always the waiting crowds to send
A God-speed to his journey's end—
The anxious whisper, brow of gloom,
As in a sickness-sacred room,
Till his ear drank with ecstasy
The rhythmic thunders of the sea.
Tears for the smitten fatherless,
The wife s, the mother s life-distress,
To whom the million-throated moan
From throne and hut, may not atone
For one hushed voice, one empty chair,
One presence missing everywhere.

But only words of joy and cheer,