War's dark clouds has long held o'er us,
They have rolled their gloomy fold's away,
And all the world is anxious, waiting
For that promised peaceful day.
But that fearful blow inflicted,
Fell on his devoted head,
And from every town and hamlet
Came the cry our Chieftain's dead.

Weep, weep, O bleeding nation
For the patriot spirit fled,
All untold our country's future--
Buried with the silent dead.
God of battles, God of nations to our country send relief
Turn each lamentation into joy whilst we mourn our murdered chief.

On the Saturday after the assassination of the President there was a
meeting held on the Common, and a vote taken to have the President's
body brought through Indianapolis, for the people to see his dear dead
face. The vote was taken by raising the hands, and when the question
was put in favor of it a thousand black hands were extended in the
air, seemingly higher and more visible than all the rest. Nor were
their hands alone raised, for in their deep sorrow and gloom they
raised their hearts to God, for well they knew that He, through
martyred blood, had made them free. It was some time before the
remains reached Indianapolis, as it was near the last of the route.
The body was placed in the centre of the hall of the State House, and
we marched in by fours, and divided into two on each side of the
casket, and passed directly through the hall. It was very
rainy,--nothing but umbrellas were to be seen in any direction. The