He filled the nation's eye and heart, An honored, loved, familiar name, So much a brother that his fame Seemed of our lives a common part.
His towering figure, sharp and spare, Was with such nervous tension strung, As if on each strained sinew swung The burden of a people's care.
He was his country's, not his own; He had no wish but for her weal; Not for himself could think or feel, But as a laborer for her throne.
O, loved and lost! thy patient toil Had robed our cause in Victory's light; Our country stood redeemed and bright, With not a slave on all her soil.
A martyr to the cause of man, His blood is freedom's eucharist, And in the world's great hero list, His name shall lead the van.
Abraham Lincoln was killed by John Wilkes Booth, almost exactly four years after the first shot was fired at Fort Sumter. This song and Edwin Markham's poem on Lincoln are two of the greatest tributes ever paid to that hero.
O Captain! my Captain! Our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, 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 bouquets and ribbon'd 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, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor'd 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.
Some opulent force of genius, soul, and race, Some deep life-current from far centuries Flowed to his mind and lighted his sad eyes, And gave his name, among great names, high place.
But these are miracles we may not trace, Nor say why from a source and lineage mean He rose to grandeur never dreamt or seen Or told on the long scroll of history's space.