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

194 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, &quot; God bless the President ! &quot; 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,