U. S. GRANT.
Dead! The swift wires brought the message,
And a Nation's grief replied,
Dead! Columbia's noblest hero
In the land he loved has died.
He who braved the fire of battle,
He who faced the storm of war,
He who vanquished mighty armies,
Earth's most honored conqueror.
Mourn Columbia, o'er thy waters
Sounds the death knell of thy brave,
Droop thy proud old flag in sadness,
"Tis the flag he fought to save;
He shall sleep where none may waken,
In the land he loved so well;
But thy unborn generations
Shall his deeds of valor tell.
Over Orient lands he traveled,
Foreign nations made him room,
Heathen empires spread before him
Their rich fruitage and their bloom;
But not one of them could claim him,
O'er the ocean's pathless foam
Faithful vessels bore him safely
Back again to friends and home.
Egypt's tombs nor India's temples
Shall his precious dust inclose;
Nor in Britain's ivied abbeys
Shall our sacred dead repose.
But his own, his native country,
Shall protect his lettered stone;
Proud Columbia, draped in mourning,
Claims her hero for her own.
Rest in peace thou veteran warrior,
All thy victories are past;
On thy ear shall no more thunder
Cannon's roar or trumpet's blast.
'Till thy peaceful, slumbering ashes,
Resting 'neath thy country's sod,
Shall awake with countless millions
At the mighty trump of God.
And a Nation's grief replied,
Dead! Columbia's noblest hero
In the land he loved has died.
He who braved the fire of battle,
He who faced the storm of war,
He who vanquished mighty armies,
Earth's most honored conqueror.
Mourn Columbia, o'er thy waters
Sounds the death knell of thy brave,
Droop thy proud old flag in sadness,
"Tis the flag he fought to save;
He shall sleep where none may waken,
In the land he loved so well;
But thy unborn generations
Shall his deeds of valor tell.
Over Orient lands he traveled,
Foreign nations made him room,
Heathen empires spread before him
Their rich fruitage and their bloom;
But not one of them could claim him,
O'er the ocean's pathless foam
Faithful vessels bore him safely
Back again to friends and home.
Egypt's tombs nor India's temples
Shall his precious dust inclose;
Nor in Britain's ivied abbeys
Shall our sacred dead repose.
But his own, his native country,
Shall protect his lettered stone;
Proud Columbia, draped in mourning,
Claims her hero for her own.
Rest in peace thou veteran warrior,
All thy victories are past;
On thy ear shall no more thunder
Cannon's roar or trumpet's blast.
'Till thy peaceful, slumbering ashes,
Resting 'neath thy country's sod,
Shall awake with countless millions
At the mighty trump of God.