Edmund Clarence Stedman

Abraham Lincoln

      Assassinated Good Friday, 1865

"Forgive them, for they know not what they do!"
⁠     He said, and so went shriven to his fate,—
Unknowing went, that generous heart and true.
⁠     Even while he spoke the slayer lay in wait,
⁠And when the morning opened Heaven's gate
     There passed the whitest soul a nation knew.
⁠Henceforth all thoughts of pardon are too late;
     They, in whose cause that arm its weapon drew,
⁠Have murdered Mercy. Now alone shall stand
     Blind Justice, with the sword unsheathed she wore.
⁠Hark, from the eastern to the western strand,
     The swelling thunder of the people's roar:
⁠What words they murmur,—Fetter not her hand!
     So let it smite, such deeds shall be no more!