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and joy at the thousands of her sons so resolutely aiding with law and right in this your war. You have seen our joy on receiving good tidings from the United States, and know the confidence with which we ever looked forward to the victory of your cause, and the reconstruction of the Union in all its ancient might and splendor. The grand work of reconstruction will, we trust, be not delayed by this terrible crime. The blood of the great and wise chieftain will only serve to cement the Union for which he died. To us this is guaranteed by the respect of the law and the love of liberty which the people of the United States evinced in the very midst of this tremendous contest.

"We request your good offices for giving expression to our condolences and our sympathies with the people and government of the United States, and communicating this address to the Cabinet you represent.

"Receive, &c.,


The address was immediately signed by deputies of the House.

A solemn service, in the German and English languages, was performed on May 2, in the Dorothea church, Berlin, in memory of President Lincoln. Numerous deputations were present. Herr Von Bismark attended, and the King was represented by his aides-de-camp. The church was crowded.







Not as when some great Captain falls
In battle, where his Country calls,
Beyond the struggling lines

That push his dread designs

To doom, by some stray ball struck dead:
Or, in the last charge, at the head

Of his determined men,

Who must be victors then!

Nor as when sink the civic Great,
The safer pillars of the State,

Whose calm, mature, wise words
Suppress the need of swords!-

With no such tears as e'er were shed
Above the noblest of our Dead

Do we to-day deplore

The Man that is no more !

Our sorrow hath a wider scope,

Too strange for fear, too vast for hope,-
A Wonder, blind and dumb,

That waits-what is to come!

Not more astounded had we been
If Madness, that dark night, unseen,
Had in our chambers crept,
And murdered while we slept!

We woke to find a mourning Earth-
Our Lares shivered on the hearth,-
The roof-tree fallen,-all
That could affright, appall!

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Had pierced, had crushed Rebellion dead,Without a Hand, without a Head;

At last, when all was well,

He fell-O, how he fell!

The time, the place, the stealing Shape,The coward shot,-the swift escape,

The wife—the widow's scream,—

It is a hideous Dream!

A Dream?-what means this pageant, then?
These multitudes of solemn men,

Who speak not when they meet,
But throng the silent street?

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