Abraham Lincoln

TURN; and, behold the sad Soul of the West
Passing behind a Rainbow bloodily!
Conscience incarnate, steadfast, strong, and free,
Changeless thro' change, blessing and ever blessed.
Sad storm-cloud with God's Iris on his breast,
Across the troubled ocean travelled he, —
Sad was his passing! gentle be his rest!
God's Bow sails with him on another sea!
At first no larger than a prophet's hand,
Against the dense insufferable blue
Cloud-like he came; and by a fierce wind fanned,
Didst gather into greatness ere we knew,
Then, flash by flash, most desolately grand,
Passed away sadly heavenward, dropping dew!