Classic Poem

Clad in the dark habiliments of woe,
The crowd move on with measured step and slow;
Why doth yon car the name of Taylor bear?—
Why sits with outspread wings the eagle there?
Hark! hark! the muffled drum and solemn bell.
In mournful tones reply, farewell, farewell!
Farewell! our hero, president, and friend!
O'er his pale form it was not ours to bend—
Nor could we follow to his narrow bed,
Nor weep in sorrow o'er the illustrious dead.
Yet would we now our humble tribute bring,
It is affection's last, sad offering.
Our hearts are full—among that throng we see
Some who in battle nobly fought with thee.
At thy command the glittering sword they drew,
By thee inspired, no fear their bosoms knew.
Their downcast eyes our sympathies awake—
Yes, we revere them for our hero's sake.
A nation mourns—and shrouded thus in woe,
In broken accents cries—why is it so?
Eternal wisdom! wondrous thy designs!
Far, far beyond the reach of finite minds.
We dare not murmur at thy sovereign will—
Oh! bid each agitated heart be still.
Oh! soothe the anguish of each troubled breast,
And hush the tumult of our grief to rest!