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Abraham Lincoln - But Here`s An Object More Of Dread
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                  But here`s an object more of dread
                    Than aught the grave contains--
                  A human form with reason fled,
                    While wretched life remains.

                  When terror spread, and neighbors ran
                    Your dangerous strength to bind,
                  And soon, a howling, crazy man,
                    Your limbs were fast confined;

                  How then you strove and shrieked aloud,
                    Your bones and sinews bared;
                  And fiendish on the gazing crowd
                    With burning eyeballs glared;

                  And begged and swore, and wept and prayed,
                    With maniac laughter joined;
                  How fearful were these signs displayed
                    By pangs that killed the mind!

                  And when at length the drear and long
                    Time soothed thy fiercer woes,
                  How plaintively thy mournful song
                    Upon the still night rose!

                  I`ve heard it oft as if I dreamed,
                    Far distant, sweet and lone,
                  The funeral dirge it ever seemed
                    Of reason dead and gone.

                  To drink its strains I`ve stole away,
                    All stealthily and still,
                  Ere yet the rising god of day
                    Had streaked the eastern hill.

                  Air held her breath; trees with the spell
                    Seemed sorrowing angels round,
                  Whose swelling tears in dewdrops fell
                    Upon the listening ground.

                  But this is past, and naught remains
                    That raised thee o`er the brute:
                  Thy piercing shrieks and soothing strains
                    Are like, forever mute.

                  Now fare thee well! More thou the cause
                    Than subject now of woe.
                  All mental pangs by time`s kind laws
                    Hast lost the power to know.

                  O death! thou awe-inspiring prince
                    That keepst the world in fear,
                  Why dost thou tear more blest ones hence,
                    And leave him lingering here?
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