Bear him to his Western home,
Whence he came four years ago;
Not beneath some Eastern dome,
But where Freedom's airs may come,
Where the prairie grasses grow,
To the friends who loved him so,
Take him to his quiet rest;
Toll the bell and fire the gun;
He who served his Country best,
He whom millions loved and bless'd,
Now has fame immortal won;
Rack of brain and heart is done.
Shed thy tears, O April rain,
O'er the tomb wherein he sleeps!
Wash away the bloody stain!
Drape the skies in grief, O rain!
Lo! a nation with thee weeps,
Grieving o'er her martyred slain.
To the people whence he came,
Bear him gently back again,
Greater his than victor's fame:
His is now a sainted name;
Never ruler had such gain--
Never people had such pain.
[Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN