I.

Shroud the banner! rear the cross!
Consecrate a nation's loss;
Gaze on that majestic sleep,
Stand beside his bier to weep;
Lay the gentle son of Toil
Proudly in his native soil;
Crowned with honor to his rest
Bear the Prophet of the West!

II.

How cold the blow that yet doth wear
The impress of a nation's care;
How still the heart whose every beat
Glowed with compassion's sacred heat;
Rigid the lips whose patient smile
Duty's stern task would oft beguile;
Blood-quenched the pensive's eye's soft light,
Nerveless the hand so slow to smite;
So meek in rule, it leads, though dead,
The people as in life it led.

III.

O! let his wise and gentle sway,
Win every recreant to-day,
And sorrow's vast and holy wave
Blend all our hearts around his grave!
Le the faithful bondsmen's tears,
Let the traitor's craven fears,
And the People's grief and pride
Plead against the parricide!
Let us throng to pledge and pray
Around the patriot-martyr's clay;
Then with solemn faith in Right,
That made him victor in the fight,
Cling to the path he fearless trod
Still radiant with the smile of God.

IV.

Shroud the banner! rear the cross!
Consecrate a nation's loss!
Gaze on that majestic sleep
Stand beside his bier to weep;
Lay the gentle son of Toil,
Proudly in his native soil;
Crowned with honor to his rest,
Bear the Prophet of the West!