The work of death
Sadly silent near the dead
They had heard the news of the battle
To think that you died alone
Vigil strange
They bear him gently home
Not e'en the house of God was spared
Home, home again!
God of the true-hearted
But God he keeps the middle way
To the plain where the blessed city lies
In glory sleep!
Lincoln is dead!
Purchased with our Jackson's blood
Thy pale and perished flowers
Rightful order into ruin hurled
The glowing wonders of secession
Since mercy fell by tyranny
Gaunt treason
On none dependent, sovereign, free
This broad domain that freedom craves
The thirsty lash, with sharp, steel-pointed thong
The festal march of iron
Most glorious southern land
Magical mesh, to entangle a world
The book of books we confidently quote
All Scripture is useful in its place
Your father, boy, was eager
She gave a shriek and cried aloud
Their earthly paths no more shall sever.