"A nation mourns her chief" (1865)

    Twine our flag with death's dark emblem.
Mingle crape and laurel leaf.
    Weep true heart and pay homage.
See a nation mourns her chief.

Words and Music by
[Reverend] H[enry]. S[cott]. Thompson
[1835-1914]
Author of Lilly Dale, Annie Lisle, Marion Lee,
I Am Lonely Since My Mother Died, etc.

St. Louis, MO: Balmer & Weber, 56 Fourth St.
[M 1640.T]
Plate No. 14-303
[Source: 200002074@LoC/IHAS-CWM]

[NOTE:
Republished upon the death of James A. Garfield as
"The Martyr President Sleeps."
Song & Chorus by H.S. Thompson.
Arrangement by Henry Werner.
(Saint Louis: Balmer & Weber, 311 North Fifth St. © 1881.)

The "arrangement" by Henry Werner changed nothing.
The same music, number of stanzas, and chorus reappeared.
One word was changed from Lincoln's to Garfield's, otherwise
the lyrics remained identical. The same key signature
(Bflat Major) was reused, however the time signature was
changed from 4/4 to cut-time.

Balmer & Weber did apply a new artwork cover page, and
added a fifth page which the publishers used to advertise
Lincoln's Funeral March by E.C. Davis.]


1. While a country’s heart was throbbing,
Full of joy, for victories won,
While the stars and stripes were waving.
O’er each cottage, ship and dome;
Come upon the winged lightning,
Words that turned earth joy to dread,
Frose with horror, as we listen,
Our loved Chieftain, Lincoln’s dead.

CHORUS [sung after each VERSE]
Twine our flag with death’s dark Emblem, twine it
Mingle crape and laurelleaf, laurelleaf
Weep true heart and pay thy homage,
For a nation mourns her Chief. (her Chief.)

2. War’s dark clouds, that long hung o’er us,
Rolled their gloomy fold away.
All the world seemed anxious, waiting,
For the promished, peaceful, day.
But the fearful blow impending,
Fell on his devoted head,
And from every town and hamlet
Comes the wail, Our Chieftain’s dead.

3. Weep, oh weep poor bleeding nation,
For the patriot spirit fled.
All untold our country’s future,
Buried with the silent dead.
God of nations, God of battles,
To our Country send relief;
Turn bereaveness to a blessing,
While we mourn our murder’d Chief.