"THE GOOD GRAY POET" (Walt Whitman)topWalt Whitman, born in West Hills, Long Island, New York, May 31, 1819. He was educated in the public schools of Brooklyn and New York City. Learned the printing trade at which he worked during the summer and taught school in winter. He made long pedestrian tours through the United States and even extended his tramps through Canada. His chief work,Leaves of Grass,is a series of poems through which he earned the praise of some and the abuse of others. He visited the army when a brother was wounded and remained afterward as a volunteer nurse. Died 1892.O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;The ship has weather'd every wrack, the prize we sought is won;The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel firm and daring;But O heart! heart! heart!O the bleeding drops of red,Where on the deck my Captain lies,Fallen, cold and dead.O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;topHere, Captain! dear Father!This arm beneath your head;It is some dream that on the deckYou've fallen cold and dead.My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;My Father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!But I, with mournful tread,Walk the deck where my Captain lies,Fallen, cold and dead.topSTATUE OF LINCOLNBy Lott Flannery, in front of the Court House, WashingtonUnveiled April 16, 1868topHenry de Garrs, of Sheffield, England, wrote these lines on the assassination of Abraham Lincoln in 1865. They were published in England in 1889, and later in America, in theCentury.ON THE ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLNWhatdreadful rumor, hurtling o'er the sea,Too monstrous for belief, assails our shore?Men pause and question, Can such foul crime be?Till lingering doubt may cling to hope no more.Not when great Caesar weltered in his gore,Nor since, in time, or circumstance, or place,Hath crime so shook the World's great heart before.O World! O World! of all thy records base,Time wears no fouler scar on his time-smitten face.A king of men, inured to hardy toil,Rose truly royal up the steeps of life,Till Europe's monarchs seemed to dwarf the whileBeneath his greatness—great when traitors rifePierced deep his country's heart with treason-knife;But greatest when victorious he stood,Crowning with mercy freedom's greatest strife.The world saw the new light of godlike goodEre the assassin's hand shed his most precious blood.Lament thy loss, sad sister of the West:Not one, but many nations with thee weep;Cherish thy martyr on thy wounded breast,And lay him with thy Washington to sleep.Earth holds no fitter sepulcher to keepHis royal heart—one of thy kings to beWho reign even from the grave; whose scepters sweeptopMore potent over human destinyThan all ambition's pride and power and majesty.Yet, yet rejoice that thou hadst such a son;The mother of such a man should never sigh;Could longer life a nobler cause have won?Could longest age more gloriously die?Oh! lift thy heart, thy mind, thy soul on highWith deep maternal pride, that from thy wombCame such a son to scourge hell's foulest lieOut of life's temple. Watchers by his tomb!He is not there, but risen: that grave is slavery's doom.POETICAL TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLNBy Emily J. BugbeeThere'sa burden of grief on the breezes of Spring,And a song of regret from the bird on its wing;There's a pall on the sunshine and over the flowers,And a shadow of graves on these spirits of ours;For a star hath gone out from the night of our sky,On whose brightness we gazed as the war-cloud roll'd by;So tranquil, and steady, and clear were its beams,That they fell like a vision of peace on our dreams.A heart that we knew had been true to our weal,And a hand that was steadily guiding the wheel;A name never tarnished by falsehood or wrong,That had dwelt in our hearts like a soul-stirring song.topAh! that pure, noble spirit has gone to its rest,And the true hand lies nerveless and cold on his breast;But the name and the memory—thesenever will die,But grow brighter and dearer as ages go by.Yet the tears of a Nation fall over the dead,Such tears as a Nation before never shed;For our cherished one fell by a dastardly hand,A martyr to truth and the cause of the land;And a sorrow has surged, like the waves to the shore,When the breath of the tempest is sweeping them o'er,And the heads of the lofty and lowly have bowed,As the shaft of the lightning sped out from the cloud.Not gathered, like Washington, home to his rest,When the sun of his life was far down in the West;But stricken from earth in the midst of his years,With the Canaan in view, of his prayers and his tears.And the people, whose hearts in the wilderness failed,Sometimes, when the star of their promise had paled,Now, stand by his side on the mount of his fame,And yield him their hearts in a grateful acclaim.topSTATUE OF LINCOLNMuskegon, Michigan, Charles Niehaus, sculptortopJohn Nichol, born at Montrose, Forfarshire, Scotland, September 8, 1833. He was a professor of English Literature at the University of Glasgow (1861-1889), and did much to make American books popular in England. His numerous publications include:Leaves(1854), verse;Tables of European History, 200-1876 A.D.(1876); fourth edition (1888);Byron in English Men of Letters series;American Literature, 1520-1880(1882). He was an ardent advocate of the Northern cause during the Civil War, and visited the United States at the close of the conflict. He died at London, England, October 11, 1894.LINCOLN, 1865Anend at last! The echoes of thewar—The weary war beyond the Westernwaves—Die in the distance. Freedom's rising starBeacons above a hundred thousand graves;The graves of heroes who have won the fight,Who in the storming of the stubborn townHave rung the marriage peal of might and right,And scaled the cliffs and cast the dragon down.Pæans of armies thrill across the sea,Till Europe answers—"Let the struggle cease.The bloody page is turned; the next may beFor ways of pleasantness and paths of peace!"A golden morn—a dawn of betterthings—The olive-branch—clasping of handsagain—A noble lesson read to conqueredkings—A sky that tempests had not scoured in vain.This from America we hoped and himWho ruled her "in the spirit of his creed."topDoes the hope last when all our eyes are dim,As history records her darkest deed?The pilot of his people through the strife,With his strong purpose turning scorn to praise,E'en at the close of battle reft of lifeAnd fair inheritance of quiet days.Defeat and triumph found him calm and just,He showed how clemency should temper power,And, dying, left to future times in trustThe memory of his brief victorious hour.O'ermastered by the irony of fate,The last and greatest martyr of his cause;Slain like Achilles at the Scæan gate,He saw the end, and fixed "the purer laws."May these endure and, as his work, attestThe glory of his honest heart andhand—The simplest, and the bravest, and thebest—The Moses and the Cromwell of his land.Too late the pioneers of modern spite,Awe-stricken by the universal gloom,See his name lustrous in Death's sable night,And offer tardy tribute at his tomb.But we who have been with him all the while,Who knew his worth, and loved him long ago,Rejoice that in the circuit of our isleThere is at last no room for Lincoln's foe.topLINCOLN AND CABINET"The First Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation."Painted by Frank B. Carpenter.From left to right—Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War; Salmon P. Chase, Secretary of the Treasury; President Lincoln; Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy; William H. Seward, Secretary of State; J. P. Usher, Secretary of the Interior; Montgomery Blair, Postmaster-General; Edward Bates, Attorney-GeneralChristopher Pearse Cranch, born in Alexandria, Virginia, March 8, 1813. Graduated at the school of Divinity, Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1835, but retired from the ministry in 1842 to devote himself to art. He studied in Italy in 1846-8, and lived and painted in 1853-63, and, returning to New York, was elected a member of the National Academy in 1864. He was a graceful writer of both prose and verse.topLINCOLNButyesterday—the exulting nation's shoutSwelled on the breeze of victory through our streets,But yesterday—our banners flaunted outLike flowers the south wind woos from their retreats;Flowers of the nation, blue, and white, and red,Waving from balcony, and spire, and mast;Which told us that war's wintry storm had fled,And spring was more than spring to us at last.Today the nation's heart lies crushed and weak;Drooping and draped in black our banners stand.Too stunned to cry revenge, we scarce may speakThe grief that chokes all utterance through the land.God is in all. With tears our eyes are dim,Yet strive through darkness to look to Him!No, not in vain he died—not all in vain,Our good, great President! This people's handsAre linked together in one mighty chainDrawn tighter still in triple-woven bandsTo crush the fiends in human masks, whose mightWe suffer, oh, too long! No league, nor truceSave men with men! The devils we must fightWith fire! God wills it in this deed. This useWe draw from the most impious murder doneSince Calvary. Rise then, O Countrymen!Scatter these marsh-lights hopes of Union wonThrough pardoning clemency. Strike, strike again!Draw closer round the foe a girdling flame.We are stabbed whene'er we spare—strike in God's name!topSTATUE OF LINCOLNFairmount Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Randolph Rogers, sculptor. Unveiled November 26, 1869George Henry Boker, born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on the 6th day of October, 1823. Graduated at Princeton in 1842, and afterward studied law. In the year 1847, after his return from an extended tour in Europe, he publishedThe Lessons of Life and Other Poems.He also produced a number of plays which were successfully produced upon the stage, both in England and America. During the War of the Rebellion he wrote a number of patriotic lyrics, collected and published in a volume under the title ofPoems of the War.He has also written other poems and articles in prose which have received high praise.In the year 1871 he was appointed by President Grant as our United States Minister to Turkey, but in 1875 was transferred to the more important Mission of Russia.topLINCOLNCrownwe our heroes with a holier wreathThan man e'er wore upon this side of death;Mix with their laurels deathless asphodels,And chime their pæans from the sacred bells!Nor in your praises forget the martyred Chief,Fallen for the gospel of your own belief,Who, ere he mounted to the people's throne,Asked for your prayers, and joined in them his own.I knew the man. I see him, as he standsWith gifts of mercy in his outstretched hands;A kindly light within his gentle eyes,Sad as the toil in which his heart grew wise;His lips half parted with the constant smileThat kindled truth, but foiled the deepest guile;His head bent forward, and his willing earDivinely patient right and wrong to hear:Great in his goodness, humble in his state,Firm in his purpose, yet not passionate,He led his people with a tender hand,And won by love a sway beyond command.Summoned by lot to mitigate a timeFrenzied with rage, unscrupulous with crime,He bore his mission with so meek a heartThat Heaven itself took up his people's part;And when he faltered, helped him ere he fell,Eking his efforts out by miracle.No king this man, by grace of God's intent;No, something better, freeman,—President!A nature modeled on a higher plan,Lord of himself, an inborn gentleman!topABRAHAM LINCOLNPhoto by Brady, 1864Phoebe Carywas born near Cincinnati, Ohio, September 24, 1824. Her advantages for education were somewhat better than those of her sister Alice, whose almost inseparable companion she became at an early age. They were quite different, however, in temperament, in person and in mental constitution. Phoebe began to write verse at the age of seventeen years, and one of her earliest poems,Nearer Home,beginning with "One sweetly solemn thought," won her a world-wide reputation. In the joint housekeeping in New York she took from choice (Alice being for many years an invalid) the larger share of duties upon herself, and hence found little opportunity for literary work.topIn society, however, she was brilliant, but at all times kindly. She wrote a touching tribute to her sister's memory, published in theLadies' Repositorya few days before her own death, which occurred at Newport, R. I., July 31, 1871. In the volume ofPoems of Alice and Phoebe Cary(Philadelphia, 1850) but about one-third were written by Phoebe. Her independently published books arePoems and Parodies(1854), andPoems of Faith, Hope and Love(1868).ABRAHAM LINCOLNOursun hath gone down at the noonday,The heavens are black;And over the morning the shadowsOf night-time are back.Stop the proud boasting mouth of the cannon,Hush the mirth and the shout;God is God! and the ways of JehovahAre past finding out.Lo! the beautiful feet on the mountains,That yesterday stood;The white feet that came with glad tidingsAre dabbled in blood.The Nation that firmly was settlingThe crown on her head,Sits, like Rizpah, in sackcloth and ashes,And watches her dead.Who is dead? who, unmoved by our wailingIs lying so low?O, my Land, stricken dumb in your anguish,Do you feel, do you know?topOnce this good man we mourn, overwearied,Worn, anxious, oppressed,Was going out from his audience chamberFor a season to rest;Unheeding the thousands who waitedTo honor and greet,When the cry of a child smote upon himAnd turned back his feet."Three days hath a woman been waiting,"Said they, "patient and meek."And he answered, "Whatever her errand,Let me hear; let her speak!"So she came, and stood trembling before himAnd pleaded her cause;Told him all; how her child's erring fatherHad broken the laws.Humbly spake she: "I mourn for his folly,His weakness, his fall";Proudly spake she: "he is not aTraitor,And I love him through all!"Then the great man, whose heart had been shakenBy a little babe's cry;Answered soft, taking counsel of mercy,"This man shall not die!"Why, he heard from the dungeons, the rice-fields,The dark holds of ships;Every faint, feeble cry which oppressionSmothered down on men's lips.topIn her furnace, the centuries had weldedTheir fetter and chain;And like withes, in the hands of his purpose,He snapped them in twain.Who can be what he was to the people;What he was to the State?Shall the ages bring to us anotherAs good and as great?Our hearts with their anguish are broken,Our wet eyes are dim;For us is the loss and the sorrow,The triumph for him!For, ere this, face to face with his FatherOur Martyr hath stood;Giving into his hand the white recordWith its great seal of blood!That the hand which reached out of the darknessHath taken the whole?Yea, the arm and the head of thepeople—The heart and the soul!And that heart, o'er whose dread awful silenceA nation has wept;Was the truest, and gentlest, and sweetestA man ever kept!topSTATUE OF LINCOLNBy Augustus Saint Gaudens, in Lincoln Park, Chicago, IllinoistopOnthe 22nd of October, 1887, this statue by Saint Gaudens was unveiled, Mr. Eli Bates donating $40,000 for that purpose. There is a vast oval of cut stone, thirty by sixty feet, the interior fashioned to form a classic bench, and the statue stands on a stone pedestal. The sculptor represents him as an orator, just risen from his chair, which is shown behind him, and waiting for the audience to become quiet before beginning his speech. The attitude is that always assumed by Lincoln at the beginning—one hand behind him, and the other grasping the lapel of his coat. He appears the very incarnation of rugged grandeur which held the master mind of this age.Charles Graham Halpin(Miles O'Reilly) was born near Oldcastle, County of Meath, Ireland, November 20, 1829. Graduated from Trinity College, Dublin, in 1846. He entered the field of journalism as a profession and soon gained a reputation in England. Came to New York in 1852 and secured employment with theHerald,was later connected with other papers. Enlisted in April, 1861, and became lieutenant of Colonel Corcoran's 69th Regiment, rising to the rank of brigadier-general. He died in New York City, August 3, 1868.topLINCOLNHefilled the Nation's eyes and heart,An honored, loved, familiar name;So much a brother that his fameSeemed of our lives a common part.His towering figure, sharp and spare,Was with such nervous tension strung,As if on each strained sinew swungThe burden of a people's care.His changing face, what pen candraw—Pathetic, kindly, droll or stern;And with a glance so quick to learnThe inmost truth of all he saw.Pride found no place to spawnHer fancies in his busy mind.His worth, like health or air, could findNo just appraisal till withdrawn.He was his country's—not his own;He had no wish but for the weak,Nor for himself could think or feel,But as a laborer for her throne.Her flag upon the heights ofpower—Stainless and unassayed to place,To this one end his earnest faceWas bent through every burdened hour......But done the battle—won the strife;When torches light his vaulted tomb,Broad gems flash out and crowns illumeThe clay-cold brow undecked in life......topO, loved and lost! Thy patient toilHad robed our cause in victory's light;Our country stood redeemed and bright,With not a slave on all her soil.'Mid peals of bells and cannon's bark,And shouting streets with flags abloom,Sped the shrill arrow of thy doom,And, in an instant, all was dark!.....A martyr to the cause of man,His blood is Freedom's Eucharist,And in the world's great hero listHis name shall lead the van.Yes! ranked on Faith's white wings unfurledIn Heaven's pure light, of him we say,"He fell on the self-same dayA Greater died to save the world."topTABLET AT PHILADELPHIAUnveiled February 21, 1903topHewho seeks the embodiment of the genius of the Union finds it in the apotheosis of the Great Emancipator. There, under the arching skies he stands, erect, serene, resplendent; beneath his feet the broken shackles of a race redeemed; upon his brow the diadem of liberty with law, while around and behind him rise up, as an eternal guard of honor, the great army of the Republic.In the belief that from the martyr's bier as from the battlefield of right it is but one step to paradise, may we not, on days like this, draw back the veil that separates from our mortal gaze the phantom squadrons as they pass again in grand review before their "Martyr President."—From an address by Hiram F. Stevens, read before the Minnesota Commandery of the Loyal Legion.THE MARTYR PRESIDENTInsolid platoons of steel,Under heaven's triumphant arch,The long lines break and wheel,And the order is "Forward, March!"The colors ripple o'erhead,The drums roll up to the sky,And with martial time and treadThe regiments all passby—The ranks of the faithful deadMeeting their president's eye.March on, your last brave mile!Salute him, star and lace!Form 'round him, rank and file,And look on the kind, rough face.But the quaint and homely smileHas a glory and a graceIt has never known erstwhile,Never in time or space.Close 'round him, hearts of pride!topPress near him, side by side!For he stands there not alone.For the holy right he died,And Christ, the crucified,Waits to welcome his own.ABRAHAM LINCOLNWritten for the Lincoln Memorial Album, by Eugene J. Hall, 1882.O honoredname, revered and undecaying,Engraven on each heart, O soul sublime!That, like a planet through the heavens straying,Outlives the wreck of time!O rough, strong soul, your noble self-possessionIs unforgotten. Still your work remains.You freed from bondage and from vile oppressionA race in clanking chains.O furrowed face, beloved by all the nation!O tall gaunt form, to memory fondly dear!O firm, bold hand, our strength and our salvation!O heart that knew no fear!Lincoln, your manhood shall survive forever,Shedding a fadeless halo round your name;Urging men on, with wise and strong endeavor,To bright and honest fame!Through years of care, to rest and joy a stranger,You saw complete the work you had begun,Thoughtless of threats, nor heeding death or danger,You toiled till all was done.topYou freed the bondman from his iron master,You broke the strong and cruel chains he wore,You saved the Ship of State from foul disasterAnd brought her safe to shore.You fell! An anxious nation's hopes seemed blighted,While millions shuddered at your dreadful fall;ButGod is good!His wondrous hand has rightedAnd reunited all.You fell, but in your death you were victorious;To moulder in the tomb your form has gone,While through the world your great soul grows more gloriousAs years go gliding on!All hail, great Chieftain! Long will sweetly clusterA thousand memories round your sacred name,Nor time, nor death shall dim the spotless lusterThat shines upon your fame.topSTATUE OF LINCOLNBy Vinnie Ream, rotunda of the Capitol, Washington, D. C.Samuel Francis Smith, clergyman, born in Boston, Massachusetts, October 21, 1808. Attended the Boston Latin School in 1820-5, and was graduated at Harvard in 1829 and at Andover Theological Seminary in 1832. Was ordained to the ministry of the Baptist Church at Waterville, Maine, in 1834, where he occupied pastorates from 1834 until 1842, and at Newton, Massachusetts, 1842 to 1854. Was professor of languages in Waterville College while residing in that city, and there he also received the degree of D.D. in 1854.topHe has done a large amount of literary work, mainly in the line of hymnology, his most popular composition being our national hymn,My Country, 'Tis of Thee,which was written while he was a theological student, and first sung at a children's celebration in the Park Street Church, Boston, July 4, 1832.The Morning Light is Breaking,was also written at the same place and time. His classmate, Oliver Wendell Holmes, in his reunion poem entitledThe Boys,thus refers to him:"And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith;Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith!But he chanted a song for the brave and thefree—Just read on his medal, 'My Country, of Thee!'"The following poem was written expressly for the exercises held on the Nineteenth Anniversary of President Lincoln's death, at his tomb, Springfield, Illinois, April 15, 1884.THE TOMB OF LINCOLNGrandeurand glory await around the bedWhere sleeps in lowly peace the illustrious dead;He rose a meteor, upon wondering men,But rose in strength, never to set again.A king of men, though born in lowly state,A man sincerely good and nobly great;Tender, but firm; faithful and kind, and true,The Nation's choice, the Nation's Saviour, too;When Liberty and Truth shall reign for evermore,From Oregon to Florida's perpetual May,From Shasta's awful peak to MassachusettsBay,—Then our children's children, by the cottage door,In the schoolroom, from the pulpit, at the bar,Shall look up to thee as to a beacon star,And deduce the lesson from thy life and death,That the patriot's lofty courage and the Christian's faithtopConquer honors that outweigh ambition's gaudiest prize,Triumph o'er the grave, and open the gates of Paradise.Schooled through life's early hardships to endure,To raise the oppressed, to save and shield the poor;Prudent in counsel, honest in debate,Patient to hear and judge, patient to wait;The calm, the wise, the witty and the proved,Whom millions honored, and whom millions loved;Swayed by no baleful lust of pride or power,The shining pageants of the passing hour,Led by no scheming arts, no selfish aim,Ambitious for no pomp, nor wealth, nor fame,No planning hypocrite, no pliant tool,A high-born patriot, of Heaven's noblest school;Cool and unshaken in the maddest storm,For in the clouds he traced the Almighty's form;Worn with the weary heart and aching head,Worse than the picket, with his ceaseless tread,He kept—as bound by some resistlessfate—His broad, strong hand upon the helm of State;Nor turned, in fear, his heart or hope away,Till on the field his tent a ruin lay.His tent, a ruin; but the owner's nameStands on the pinnacle of human fame,Inscribed in lines of light, and nations see,Through him, the people's life and liberty.What high ideas, what noble acts he taught!To make men free in life, and limb, and thought,To rise, to soar, to scorn the oppressor's rod,To live in grander life, to live for God;topTo stand for justice, freedom and the right,To dare the conflict, strong in God's own might;The methods taught by Him, by him were tried,And he, to conscience true, a martyr died.As the great sun pursues his heavenly wayAnd fills with life and joy the livelong day,Till, the full journey, in glory dressed,He seeks his crimson couch beneath the west;So, with his labor done, our hero sleeps;Above his tomb a ransomed Nation weeps;And grateful pæans o'er his ashesrise—Dear is his fame—his glory never dies.Bring flowers, fresh flowers, bring plumes with nodding crests,To wreath the tomb where our great hero rests;Bring pipe and tabret, eloquence and song,And sound the loving tribute, loud and long;A Nation bows, and mourns his honored name,A Nation proudly keeps his deathless fame;Let vale and rock, and hill, and land, and seaHis memory swell—the anthem of the free.top
"THE GOOD GRAY POET" (Walt Whitman)
top
Walt Whitman, born in West Hills, Long Island, New York, May 31, 1819. He was educated in the public schools of Brooklyn and New York City. Learned the printing trade at which he worked during the summer and taught school in winter. He made long pedestrian tours through the United States and even extended his tramps through Canada. His chief work,Leaves of Grass,is a series of poems through which he earned the praise of some and the abuse of others. He visited the army when a brother was wounded and remained afterward as a volunteer nurse. Died 1892.
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;The ship has weather'd every wrack, the prize we sought is won;The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel firm and daring;
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every wrack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel firm and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!O the bleeding drops of red,Where on the deck my Captain lies,Fallen, cold and dead.
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen, cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;top
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here, Captain! dear Father!This arm beneath your head;It is some dream that on the deckYou've fallen cold and dead.
Here, Captain! dear Father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;My Father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My Father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!But I, with mournful tread,Walk the deck where my Captain lies,Fallen, cold and dead.
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck where my Captain lies,
Fallen, cold and dead.
top
STATUE OF LINCOLNBy Lott Flannery, in front of the Court House, WashingtonUnveiled April 16, 1868
top
Henry de Garrs, of Sheffield, England, wrote these lines on the assassination of Abraham Lincoln in 1865. They were published in England in 1889, and later in America, in theCentury.
Whatdreadful rumor, hurtling o'er the sea,Too monstrous for belief, assails our shore?Men pause and question, Can such foul crime be?Till lingering doubt may cling to hope no more.Not when great Caesar weltered in his gore,Nor since, in time, or circumstance, or place,Hath crime so shook the World's great heart before.O World! O World! of all thy records base,Time wears no fouler scar on his time-smitten face.
Whatdreadful rumor, hurtling o'er the sea,
Too monstrous for belief, assails our shore?
Men pause and question, Can such foul crime be?
Till lingering doubt may cling to hope no more.
Not when great Caesar weltered in his gore,
Nor since, in time, or circumstance, or place,
Hath crime so shook the World's great heart before.
O World! O World! of all thy records base,
Time wears no fouler scar on his time-smitten face.
A king of men, inured to hardy toil,Rose truly royal up the steeps of life,Till Europe's monarchs seemed to dwarf the whileBeneath his greatness—great when traitors rifePierced deep his country's heart with treason-knife;But greatest when victorious he stood,Crowning with mercy freedom's greatest strife.The world saw the new light of godlike goodEre the assassin's hand shed his most precious blood.
A king of men, inured to hardy toil,
Rose truly royal up the steeps of life,
Till Europe's monarchs seemed to dwarf the while
Beneath his greatness—great when traitors rife
Pierced deep his country's heart with treason-knife;
But greatest when victorious he stood,
Crowning with mercy freedom's greatest strife.
The world saw the new light of godlike good
Ere the assassin's hand shed his most precious blood.
Lament thy loss, sad sister of the West:Not one, but many nations with thee weep;Cherish thy martyr on thy wounded breast,And lay him with thy Washington to sleep.Earth holds no fitter sepulcher to keepHis royal heart—one of thy kings to beWho reign even from the grave; whose scepters sweeptopMore potent over human destinyThan all ambition's pride and power and majesty.
Lament thy loss, sad sister of the West:
Not one, but many nations with thee weep;
Cherish thy martyr on thy wounded breast,
And lay him with thy Washington to sleep.
Earth holds no fitter sepulcher to keep
His royal heart—one of thy kings to be
Who reign even from the grave; whose scepters sweep
More potent over human destiny
Than all ambition's pride and power and majesty.
Yet, yet rejoice that thou hadst such a son;The mother of such a man should never sigh;Could longer life a nobler cause have won?Could longest age more gloriously die?Oh! lift thy heart, thy mind, thy soul on highWith deep maternal pride, that from thy wombCame such a son to scourge hell's foulest lieOut of life's temple. Watchers by his tomb!He is not there, but risen: that grave is slavery's doom.
Yet, yet rejoice that thou hadst such a son;
The mother of such a man should never sigh;
Could longer life a nobler cause have won?
Could longest age more gloriously die?
Oh! lift thy heart, thy mind, thy soul on high
With deep maternal pride, that from thy womb
Came such a son to scourge hell's foulest lie
Out of life's temple. Watchers by his tomb!
He is not there, but risen: that grave is slavery's doom.
By Emily J. Bugbee
There'sa burden of grief on the breezes of Spring,And a song of regret from the bird on its wing;There's a pall on the sunshine and over the flowers,And a shadow of graves on these spirits of ours;For a star hath gone out from the night of our sky,On whose brightness we gazed as the war-cloud roll'd by;So tranquil, and steady, and clear were its beams,That they fell like a vision of peace on our dreams.
There'sa burden of grief on the breezes of Spring,
And a song of regret from the bird on its wing;
There's a pall on the sunshine and over the flowers,
And a shadow of graves on these spirits of ours;
For a star hath gone out from the night of our sky,
On whose brightness we gazed as the war-cloud roll'd by;
So tranquil, and steady, and clear were its beams,
That they fell like a vision of peace on our dreams.
A heart that we knew had been true to our weal,And a hand that was steadily guiding the wheel;A name never tarnished by falsehood or wrong,That had dwelt in our hearts like a soul-stirring song.topAh! that pure, noble spirit has gone to its rest,And the true hand lies nerveless and cold on his breast;But the name and the memory—thesenever will die,But grow brighter and dearer as ages go by.
A heart that we knew had been true to our weal,
And a hand that was steadily guiding the wheel;
A name never tarnished by falsehood or wrong,
That had dwelt in our hearts like a soul-stirring song.
Ah! that pure, noble spirit has gone to its rest,
And the true hand lies nerveless and cold on his breast;
But the name and the memory—thesenever will die,
But grow brighter and dearer as ages go by.
Yet the tears of a Nation fall over the dead,Such tears as a Nation before never shed;For our cherished one fell by a dastardly hand,A martyr to truth and the cause of the land;And a sorrow has surged, like the waves to the shore,When the breath of the tempest is sweeping them o'er,And the heads of the lofty and lowly have bowed,As the shaft of the lightning sped out from the cloud.
Yet the tears of a Nation fall over the dead,
Such tears as a Nation before never shed;
For our cherished one fell by a dastardly hand,
A martyr to truth and the cause of the land;
And a sorrow has surged, like the waves to the shore,
When the breath of the tempest is sweeping them o'er,
And the heads of the lofty and lowly have bowed,
As the shaft of the lightning sped out from the cloud.
Not gathered, like Washington, home to his rest,When the sun of his life was far down in the West;But stricken from earth in the midst of his years,With the Canaan in view, of his prayers and his tears.And the people, whose hearts in the wilderness failed,Sometimes, when the star of their promise had paled,Now, stand by his side on the mount of his fame,And yield him their hearts in a grateful acclaim.
Not gathered, like Washington, home to his rest,
When the sun of his life was far down in the West;
But stricken from earth in the midst of his years,
With the Canaan in view, of his prayers and his tears.
And the people, whose hearts in the wilderness failed,
Sometimes, when the star of their promise had paled,
Now, stand by his side on the mount of his fame,
And yield him their hearts in a grateful acclaim.
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STATUE OF LINCOLNMuskegon, Michigan, Charles Niehaus, sculptor
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John Nichol, born at Montrose, Forfarshire, Scotland, September 8, 1833. He was a professor of English Literature at the University of Glasgow (1861-1889), and did much to make American books popular in England. His numerous publications include:Leaves(1854), verse;Tables of European History, 200-1876 A.D.(1876); fourth edition (1888);Byron in English Men of Letters series;American Literature, 1520-1880(1882). He was an ardent advocate of the Northern cause during the Civil War, and visited the United States at the close of the conflict. He died at London, England, October 11, 1894.
Anend at last! The echoes of thewar—The weary war beyond the Westernwaves—Die in the distance. Freedom's rising starBeacons above a hundred thousand graves;
Anend at last! The echoes of thewar—
The weary war beyond the Westernwaves—
Die in the distance. Freedom's rising star
Beacons above a hundred thousand graves;
The graves of heroes who have won the fight,Who in the storming of the stubborn townHave rung the marriage peal of might and right,And scaled the cliffs and cast the dragon down.
The graves of heroes who have won the fight,
Who in the storming of the stubborn town
Have rung the marriage peal of might and right,
And scaled the cliffs and cast the dragon down.
Pæans of armies thrill across the sea,Till Europe answers—"Let the struggle cease.The bloody page is turned; the next may beFor ways of pleasantness and paths of peace!"
Pæans of armies thrill across the sea,
Till Europe answers—"Let the struggle cease.
The bloody page is turned; the next may be
For ways of pleasantness and paths of peace!"
A golden morn—a dawn of betterthings—The olive-branch—clasping of handsagain—A noble lesson read to conqueredkings—A sky that tempests had not scoured in vain.
A golden morn—a dawn of betterthings—
The olive-branch—clasping of handsagain—
A noble lesson read to conqueredkings—
A sky that tempests had not scoured in vain.
This from America we hoped and himWho ruled her "in the spirit of his creed."topDoes the hope last when all our eyes are dim,As history records her darkest deed?
This from America we hoped and him
Who ruled her "in the spirit of his creed."
Does the hope last when all our eyes are dim,
As history records her darkest deed?
The pilot of his people through the strife,With his strong purpose turning scorn to praise,E'en at the close of battle reft of lifeAnd fair inheritance of quiet days.
The pilot of his people through the strife,
With his strong purpose turning scorn to praise,
E'en at the close of battle reft of life
And fair inheritance of quiet days.
Defeat and triumph found him calm and just,He showed how clemency should temper power,And, dying, left to future times in trustThe memory of his brief victorious hour.
Defeat and triumph found him calm and just,
He showed how clemency should temper power,
And, dying, left to future times in trust
The memory of his brief victorious hour.
O'ermastered by the irony of fate,The last and greatest martyr of his cause;Slain like Achilles at the Scæan gate,He saw the end, and fixed "the purer laws."
O'ermastered by the irony of fate,
The last and greatest martyr of his cause;
Slain like Achilles at the Scæan gate,
He saw the end, and fixed "the purer laws."
May these endure and, as his work, attestThe glory of his honest heart andhand—The simplest, and the bravest, and thebest—The Moses and the Cromwell of his land.
May these endure and, as his work, attest
The glory of his honest heart andhand—
The simplest, and the bravest, and thebest—
The Moses and the Cromwell of his land.
Too late the pioneers of modern spite,Awe-stricken by the universal gloom,See his name lustrous in Death's sable night,And offer tardy tribute at his tomb.
Too late the pioneers of modern spite,
Awe-stricken by the universal gloom,
See his name lustrous in Death's sable night,
And offer tardy tribute at his tomb.
But we who have been with him all the while,Who knew his worth, and loved him long ago,Rejoice that in the circuit of our isleThere is at last no room for Lincoln's foe.
But we who have been with him all the while,
Who knew his worth, and loved him long ago,
Rejoice that in the circuit of our isle
There is at last no room for Lincoln's foe.
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LINCOLN AND CABINET
"The First Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation."Painted by Frank B. Carpenter.
From left to right—Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War; Salmon P. Chase, Secretary of the Treasury; President Lincoln; Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy; William H. Seward, Secretary of State; J. P. Usher, Secretary of the Interior; Montgomery Blair, Postmaster-General; Edward Bates, Attorney-General
Christopher Pearse Cranch, born in Alexandria, Virginia, March 8, 1813. Graduated at the school of Divinity, Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1835, but retired from the ministry in 1842 to devote himself to art. He studied in Italy in 1846-8, and lived and painted in 1853-63, and, returning to New York, was elected a member of the National Academy in 1864. He was a graceful writer of both prose and verse.
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Butyesterday—the exulting nation's shoutSwelled on the breeze of victory through our streets,But yesterday—our banners flaunted outLike flowers the south wind woos from their retreats;Flowers of the nation, blue, and white, and red,Waving from balcony, and spire, and mast;Which told us that war's wintry storm had fled,And spring was more than spring to us at last.
Butyesterday—the exulting nation's shout
Swelled on the breeze of victory through our streets,
But yesterday—our banners flaunted out
Like flowers the south wind woos from their retreats;
Flowers of the nation, blue, and white, and red,
Waving from balcony, and spire, and mast;
Which told us that war's wintry storm had fled,
And spring was more than spring to us at last.
Today the nation's heart lies crushed and weak;Drooping and draped in black our banners stand.Too stunned to cry revenge, we scarce may speakThe grief that chokes all utterance through the land.God is in all. With tears our eyes are dim,Yet strive through darkness to look to Him!
Today the nation's heart lies crushed and weak;
Drooping and draped in black our banners stand.
Too stunned to cry revenge, we scarce may speak
The grief that chokes all utterance through the land.
God is in all. With tears our eyes are dim,
Yet strive through darkness to look to Him!
No, not in vain he died—not all in vain,Our good, great President! This people's handsAre linked together in one mighty chainDrawn tighter still in triple-woven bandsTo crush the fiends in human masks, whose mightWe suffer, oh, too long! No league, nor truceSave men with men! The devils we must fightWith fire! God wills it in this deed. This useWe draw from the most impious murder doneSince Calvary. Rise then, O Countrymen!Scatter these marsh-lights hopes of Union wonThrough pardoning clemency. Strike, strike again!Draw closer round the foe a girdling flame.We are stabbed whene'er we spare—strike in God's name!
No, not in vain he died—not all in vain,
Our good, great President! This people's hands
Are linked together in one mighty chain
Drawn tighter still in triple-woven bands
To crush the fiends in human masks, whose might
We suffer, oh, too long! No league, nor truce
Save men with men! The devils we must fight
With fire! God wills it in this deed. This use
We draw from the most impious murder done
Since Calvary. Rise then, O Countrymen!
Scatter these marsh-lights hopes of Union won
Through pardoning clemency. Strike, strike again!
Draw closer round the foe a girdling flame.
We are stabbed whene'er we spare—strike in God's name!
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STATUE OF LINCOLNFairmount Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Randolph Rogers, sculptor. Unveiled November 26, 1869
George Henry Boker, born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on the 6th day of October, 1823. Graduated at Princeton in 1842, and afterward studied law. In the year 1847, after his return from an extended tour in Europe, he publishedThe Lessons of Life and Other Poems.He also produced a number of plays which were successfully produced upon the stage, both in England and America. During the War of the Rebellion he wrote a number of patriotic lyrics, collected and published in a volume under the title ofPoems of the War.He has also written other poems and articles in prose which have received high praise.
In the year 1871 he was appointed by President Grant as our United States Minister to Turkey, but in 1875 was transferred to the more important Mission of Russia.
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Crownwe our heroes with a holier wreathThan man e'er wore upon this side of death;Mix with their laurels deathless asphodels,And chime their pæans from the sacred bells!Nor in your praises forget the martyred Chief,Fallen for the gospel of your own belief,Who, ere he mounted to the people's throne,Asked for your prayers, and joined in them his own.I knew the man. I see him, as he standsWith gifts of mercy in his outstretched hands;A kindly light within his gentle eyes,Sad as the toil in which his heart grew wise;His lips half parted with the constant smileThat kindled truth, but foiled the deepest guile;His head bent forward, and his willing earDivinely patient right and wrong to hear:Great in his goodness, humble in his state,Firm in his purpose, yet not passionate,He led his people with a tender hand,And won by love a sway beyond command.Summoned by lot to mitigate a timeFrenzied with rage, unscrupulous with crime,He bore his mission with so meek a heartThat Heaven itself took up his people's part;And when he faltered, helped him ere he fell,Eking his efforts out by miracle.No king this man, by grace of God's intent;No, something better, freeman,—President!A nature modeled on a higher plan,Lord of himself, an inborn gentleman!
Crownwe our heroes with a holier wreath
Than man e'er wore upon this side of death;
Mix with their laurels deathless asphodels,
And chime their pæans from the sacred bells!
Nor in your praises forget the martyred Chief,
Fallen for the gospel of your own belief,
Who, ere he mounted to the people's throne,
Asked for your prayers, and joined in them his own.
I knew the man. I see him, as he stands
With gifts of mercy in his outstretched hands;
A kindly light within his gentle eyes,
Sad as the toil in which his heart grew wise;
His lips half parted with the constant smile
That kindled truth, but foiled the deepest guile;
His head bent forward, and his willing ear
Divinely patient right and wrong to hear:
Great in his goodness, humble in his state,
Firm in his purpose, yet not passionate,
He led his people with a tender hand,
And won by love a sway beyond command.
Summoned by lot to mitigate a time
Frenzied with rage, unscrupulous with crime,
He bore his mission with so meek a heart
That Heaven itself took up his people's part;
And when he faltered, helped him ere he fell,
Eking his efforts out by miracle.
No king this man, by grace of God's intent;
No, something better, freeman,—President!
A nature modeled on a higher plan,
Lord of himself, an inborn gentleman!
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ABRAHAM LINCOLNPhoto by Brady, 1864
Phoebe Carywas born near Cincinnati, Ohio, September 24, 1824. Her advantages for education were somewhat better than those of her sister Alice, whose almost inseparable companion she became at an early age. They were quite different, however, in temperament, in person and in mental constitution. Phoebe began to write verse at the age of seventeen years, and one of her earliest poems,Nearer Home,beginning with "One sweetly solemn thought," won her a world-wide reputation. In the joint housekeeping in New York she took from choice (Alice being for many years an invalid) the larger share of duties upon herself, and hence found little opportunity for literary work.topIn society, however, she was brilliant, but at all times kindly. She wrote a touching tribute to her sister's memory, published in theLadies' Repositorya few days before her own death, which occurred at Newport, R. I., July 31, 1871. In the volume ofPoems of Alice and Phoebe Cary(Philadelphia, 1850) but about one-third were written by Phoebe. Her independently published books arePoems and Parodies(1854), andPoems of Faith, Hope and Love(1868).
Oursun hath gone down at the noonday,The heavens are black;And over the morning the shadowsOf night-time are back.
Oursun hath gone down at the noonday,
The heavens are black;
And over the morning the shadows
Of night-time are back.
Stop the proud boasting mouth of the cannon,Hush the mirth and the shout;God is God! and the ways of JehovahAre past finding out.
Stop the proud boasting mouth of the cannon,
Hush the mirth and the shout;
God is God! and the ways of Jehovah
Are past finding out.
Lo! the beautiful feet on the mountains,That yesterday stood;The white feet that came with glad tidingsAre dabbled in blood.
Lo! the beautiful feet on the mountains,
That yesterday stood;
The white feet that came with glad tidings
Are dabbled in blood.
The Nation that firmly was settlingThe crown on her head,Sits, like Rizpah, in sackcloth and ashes,And watches her dead.
The Nation that firmly was settling
The crown on her head,
Sits, like Rizpah, in sackcloth and ashes,
And watches her dead.
Who is dead? who, unmoved by our wailingIs lying so low?O, my Land, stricken dumb in your anguish,Do you feel, do you know?top
Who is dead? who, unmoved by our wailing
Is lying so low?
O, my Land, stricken dumb in your anguish,
Do you feel, do you know?
Once this good man we mourn, overwearied,Worn, anxious, oppressed,Was going out from his audience chamberFor a season to rest;
Once this good man we mourn, overwearied,
Worn, anxious, oppressed,
Was going out from his audience chamber
For a season to rest;
Unheeding the thousands who waitedTo honor and greet,When the cry of a child smote upon himAnd turned back his feet.
Unheeding the thousands who waited
To honor and greet,
When the cry of a child smote upon him
And turned back his feet.
"Three days hath a woman been waiting,"Said they, "patient and meek."And he answered, "Whatever her errand,Let me hear; let her speak!"
"Three days hath a woman been waiting,"
Said they, "patient and meek."
And he answered, "Whatever her errand,
Let me hear; let her speak!"
So she came, and stood trembling before himAnd pleaded her cause;Told him all; how her child's erring fatherHad broken the laws.
So she came, and stood trembling before him
And pleaded her cause;
Told him all; how her child's erring father
Had broken the laws.
Humbly spake she: "I mourn for his folly,His weakness, his fall";Proudly spake she: "he is not aTraitor,And I love him through all!"
Humbly spake she: "I mourn for his folly,
His weakness, his fall";
Proudly spake she: "he is not aTraitor,
And I love him through all!"
Then the great man, whose heart had been shakenBy a little babe's cry;Answered soft, taking counsel of mercy,"This man shall not die!"
Then the great man, whose heart had been shaken
By a little babe's cry;
Answered soft, taking counsel of mercy,
"This man shall not die!"
Why, he heard from the dungeons, the rice-fields,The dark holds of ships;Every faint, feeble cry which oppressionSmothered down on men's lips.top
Why, he heard from the dungeons, the rice-fields,
The dark holds of ships;
Every faint, feeble cry which oppression
Smothered down on men's lips.
In her furnace, the centuries had weldedTheir fetter and chain;And like withes, in the hands of his purpose,He snapped them in twain.
In her furnace, the centuries had welded
Their fetter and chain;
And like withes, in the hands of his purpose,
He snapped them in twain.
Who can be what he was to the people;What he was to the State?Shall the ages bring to us anotherAs good and as great?
Who can be what he was to the people;
What he was to the State?
Shall the ages bring to us another
As good and as great?
Our hearts with their anguish are broken,Our wet eyes are dim;For us is the loss and the sorrow,The triumph for him!
Our hearts with their anguish are broken,
Our wet eyes are dim;
For us is the loss and the sorrow,
The triumph for him!
For, ere this, face to face with his FatherOur Martyr hath stood;Giving into his hand the white recordWith its great seal of blood!
For, ere this, face to face with his Father
Our Martyr hath stood;
Giving into his hand the white record
With its great seal of blood!
That the hand which reached out of the darknessHath taken the whole?Yea, the arm and the head of thepeople—The heart and the soul!
That the hand which reached out of the darkness
Hath taken the whole?
Yea, the arm and the head of thepeople—
The heart and the soul!
And that heart, o'er whose dread awful silenceA nation has wept;Was the truest, and gentlest, and sweetestA man ever kept!
And that heart, o'er whose dread awful silence
A nation has wept;
Was the truest, and gentlest, and sweetest
A man ever kept!
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STATUE OF LINCOLNBy Augustus Saint Gaudens, in Lincoln Park, Chicago, Illinois
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Onthe 22nd of October, 1887, this statue by Saint Gaudens was unveiled, Mr. Eli Bates donating $40,000 for that purpose. There is a vast oval of cut stone, thirty by sixty feet, the interior fashioned to form a classic bench, and the statue stands on a stone pedestal. The sculptor represents him as an orator, just risen from his chair, which is shown behind him, and waiting for the audience to become quiet before beginning his speech. The attitude is that always assumed by Lincoln at the beginning—one hand behind him, and the other grasping the lapel of his coat. He appears the very incarnation of rugged grandeur which held the master mind of this age.
Charles Graham Halpin(Miles O'Reilly) was born near Oldcastle, County of Meath, Ireland, November 20, 1829. Graduated from Trinity College, Dublin, in 1846. He entered the field of journalism as a profession and soon gained a reputation in England. Came to New York in 1852 and secured employment with theHerald,was later connected with other papers. Enlisted in April, 1861, and became lieutenant of Colonel Corcoran's 69th Regiment, rising to the rank of brigadier-general. He died in New York City, August 3, 1868.
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Hefilled the Nation's eyes and heart,An honored, loved, familiar name;So much a brother that his fameSeemed of our lives a common part.
Hefilled the Nation's eyes and heart,
An honored, loved, familiar name;
So much a brother that his fame
Seemed of our lives a common part.
His towering figure, sharp and spare,Was with such nervous tension strung,As if on each strained sinew swungThe burden of a people's care.
His towering figure, sharp and spare,
Was with such nervous tension strung,
As if on each strained sinew swung
The burden of a people's care.
His changing face, what pen candraw—Pathetic, kindly, droll or stern;And with a glance so quick to learnThe inmost truth of all he saw.
His changing face, what pen candraw—
Pathetic, kindly, droll or stern;
And with a glance so quick to learn
The inmost truth of all he saw.
Pride found no place to spawnHer fancies in his busy mind.His worth, like health or air, could findNo just appraisal till withdrawn.
Pride found no place to spawn
Her fancies in his busy mind.
His worth, like health or air, could find
No just appraisal till withdrawn.
He was his country's—not his own;He had no wish but for the weak,Nor for himself could think or feel,But as a laborer for her throne.
He was his country's—not his own;
He had no wish but for the weak,
Nor for himself could think or feel,
But as a laborer for her throne.
Her flag upon the heights ofpower—Stainless and unassayed to place,To this one end his earnest faceWas bent through every burdened hour.
Her flag upon the heights ofpower—
Stainless and unassayed to place,
To this one end his earnest face
Was bent through every burdened hour.
.....
But done the battle—won the strife;When torches light his vaulted tomb,Broad gems flash out and crowns illumeThe clay-cold brow undecked in life.
But done the battle—won the strife;
When torches light his vaulted tomb,
Broad gems flash out and crowns illume
The clay-cold brow undecked in life.
.....
topO, loved and lost! Thy patient toilHad robed our cause in victory's light;Our country stood redeemed and bright,With not a slave on all her soil.
O, loved and lost! Thy patient toil
Had robed our cause in victory's light;
Our country stood redeemed and bright,
With not a slave on all her soil.
'Mid peals of bells and cannon's bark,And shouting streets with flags abloom,Sped the shrill arrow of thy doom,And, in an instant, all was dark!
'Mid peals of bells and cannon's bark,
And shouting streets with flags abloom,
Sped the shrill arrow of thy doom,
And, in an instant, all was dark!
.....
A martyr to the cause of man,His blood is Freedom's Eucharist,And in the world's great hero listHis name shall lead the van.
A martyr to the cause of man,
His blood is Freedom's Eucharist,
And in the world's great hero list
His name shall lead the van.
Yes! ranked on Faith's white wings unfurledIn Heaven's pure light, of him we say,"He fell on the self-same dayA Greater died to save the world."
Yes! ranked on Faith's white wings unfurled
In Heaven's pure light, of him we say,
"He fell on the self-same day
A Greater died to save the world."
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TABLET AT PHILADELPHIAUnveiled February 21, 1903
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Hewho seeks the embodiment of the genius of the Union finds it in the apotheosis of the Great Emancipator. There, under the arching skies he stands, erect, serene, resplendent; beneath his feet the broken shackles of a race redeemed; upon his brow the diadem of liberty with law, while around and behind him rise up, as an eternal guard of honor, the great army of the Republic.
In the belief that from the martyr's bier as from the battlefield of right it is but one step to paradise, may we not, on days like this, draw back the veil that separates from our mortal gaze the phantom squadrons as they pass again in grand review before their "Martyr President."—From an address by Hiram F. Stevens, read before the Minnesota Commandery of the Loyal Legion.
Insolid platoons of steel,Under heaven's triumphant arch,The long lines break and wheel,And the order is "Forward, March!"The colors ripple o'erhead,The drums roll up to the sky,And with martial time and treadThe regiments all passby—The ranks of the faithful deadMeeting their president's eye.March on, your last brave mile!Salute him, star and lace!Form 'round him, rank and file,And look on the kind, rough face.But the quaint and homely smileHas a glory and a graceIt has never known erstwhile,Never in time or space.Close 'round him, hearts of pride!topPress near him, side by side!For he stands there not alone.For the holy right he died,And Christ, the crucified,Waits to welcome his own.
Insolid platoons of steel,
Under heaven's triumphant arch,
The long lines break and wheel,
And the order is "Forward, March!"
The colors ripple o'erhead,
The drums roll up to the sky,
And with martial time and tread
The regiments all passby—
The ranks of the faithful dead
Meeting their president's eye.
March on, your last brave mile!
Salute him, star and lace!
Form 'round him, rank and file,
And look on the kind, rough face.
But the quaint and homely smile
Has a glory and a grace
It has never known erstwhile,
Never in time or space.
Close 'round him, hearts of pride!
Press near him, side by side!
For he stands there not alone.
For the holy right he died,
And Christ, the crucified,
Waits to welcome his own.
Written for the Lincoln Memorial Album, by Eugene J. Hall, 1882.
O honoredname, revered and undecaying,Engraven on each heart, O soul sublime!That, like a planet through the heavens straying,Outlives the wreck of time!
O honoredname, revered and undecaying,
Engraven on each heart, O soul sublime!
That, like a planet through the heavens straying,
Outlives the wreck of time!
O rough, strong soul, your noble self-possessionIs unforgotten. Still your work remains.You freed from bondage and from vile oppressionA race in clanking chains.
O rough, strong soul, your noble self-possession
Is unforgotten. Still your work remains.
You freed from bondage and from vile oppression
A race in clanking chains.
O furrowed face, beloved by all the nation!O tall gaunt form, to memory fondly dear!O firm, bold hand, our strength and our salvation!O heart that knew no fear!
O furrowed face, beloved by all the nation!
O tall gaunt form, to memory fondly dear!
O firm, bold hand, our strength and our salvation!
O heart that knew no fear!
Lincoln, your manhood shall survive forever,Shedding a fadeless halo round your name;Urging men on, with wise and strong endeavor,To bright and honest fame!
Lincoln, your manhood shall survive forever,
Shedding a fadeless halo round your name;
Urging men on, with wise and strong endeavor,
To bright and honest fame!
Through years of care, to rest and joy a stranger,You saw complete the work you had begun,Thoughtless of threats, nor heeding death or danger,You toiled till all was done.top
Through years of care, to rest and joy a stranger,
You saw complete the work you had begun,
Thoughtless of threats, nor heeding death or danger,
You toiled till all was done.
You freed the bondman from his iron master,You broke the strong and cruel chains he wore,You saved the Ship of State from foul disasterAnd brought her safe to shore.
You freed the bondman from his iron master,
You broke the strong and cruel chains he wore,
You saved the Ship of State from foul disaster
And brought her safe to shore.
You fell! An anxious nation's hopes seemed blighted,While millions shuddered at your dreadful fall;ButGod is good!His wondrous hand has rightedAnd reunited all.
You fell! An anxious nation's hopes seemed blighted,
While millions shuddered at your dreadful fall;
ButGod is good!His wondrous hand has righted
And reunited all.
You fell, but in your death you were victorious;To moulder in the tomb your form has gone,While through the world your great soul grows more gloriousAs years go gliding on!
You fell, but in your death you were victorious;
To moulder in the tomb your form has gone,
While through the world your great soul grows more glorious
As years go gliding on!
All hail, great Chieftain! Long will sweetly clusterA thousand memories round your sacred name,Nor time, nor death shall dim the spotless lusterThat shines upon your fame.
All hail, great Chieftain! Long will sweetly cluster
A thousand memories round your sacred name,
Nor time, nor death shall dim the spotless luster
That shines upon your fame.
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STATUE OF LINCOLNBy Vinnie Ream, rotunda of the Capitol, Washington, D. C.
Samuel Francis Smith, clergyman, born in Boston, Massachusetts, October 21, 1808. Attended the Boston Latin School in 1820-5, and was graduated at Harvard in 1829 and at Andover Theological Seminary in 1832. Was ordained to the ministry of the Baptist Church at Waterville, Maine, in 1834, where he occupied pastorates from 1834 until 1842, and at Newton, Massachusetts, 1842 to 1854. Was professor of languages in Waterville College while residing in that city, and there he also received the degree of D.D. in 1854.
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He has done a large amount of literary work, mainly in the line of hymnology, his most popular composition being our national hymn,My Country, 'Tis of Thee,which was written while he was a theological student, and first sung at a children's celebration in the Park Street Church, Boston, July 4, 1832.The Morning Light is Breaking,was also written at the same place and time. His classmate, Oliver Wendell Holmes, in his reunion poem entitledThe Boys,thus refers to him:
"And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith;Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith!But he chanted a song for the brave and thefree—Just read on his medal, 'My Country, of Thee!'"The following poem was written expressly for the exercises held on the Nineteenth Anniversary of President Lincoln's death, at his tomb, Springfield, Illinois, April 15, 1884.
"And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith;Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith!But he chanted a song for the brave and thefree—Just read on his medal, 'My Country, of Thee!'"
"And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith;
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith!
But he chanted a song for the brave and thefree—
Just read on his medal, 'My Country, of Thee!'"
The following poem was written expressly for the exercises held on the Nineteenth Anniversary of President Lincoln's death, at his tomb, Springfield, Illinois, April 15, 1884.
Grandeurand glory await around the bedWhere sleeps in lowly peace the illustrious dead;He rose a meteor, upon wondering men,But rose in strength, never to set again.A king of men, though born in lowly state,A man sincerely good and nobly great;Tender, but firm; faithful and kind, and true,The Nation's choice, the Nation's Saviour, too;When Liberty and Truth shall reign for evermore,From Oregon to Florida's perpetual May,From Shasta's awful peak to MassachusettsBay,—Then our children's children, by the cottage door,In the schoolroom, from the pulpit, at the bar,Shall look up to thee as to a beacon star,And deduce the lesson from thy life and death,That the patriot's lofty courage and the Christian's faithtopConquer honors that outweigh ambition's gaudiest prize,Triumph o'er the grave, and open the gates of Paradise.
Grandeurand glory await around the bed
Where sleeps in lowly peace the illustrious dead;
He rose a meteor, upon wondering men,
But rose in strength, never to set again.
A king of men, though born in lowly state,
A man sincerely good and nobly great;
Tender, but firm; faithful and kind, and true,
The Nation's choice, the Nation's Saviour, too;
When Liberty and Truth shall reign for evermore,
From Oregon to Florida's perpetual May,
From Shasta's awful peak to MassachusettsBay,—
Then our children's children, by the cottage door,
In the schoolroom, from the pulpit, at the bar,
Shall look up to thee as to a beacon star,
And deduce the lesson from thy life and death,
That the patriot's lofty courage and the Christian's faith
Conquer honors that outweigh ambition's gaudiest prize,
Triumph o'er the grave, and open the gates of Paradise.
Schooled through life's early hardships to endure,To raise the oppressed, to save and shield the poor;Prudent in counsel, honest in debate,Patient to hear and judge, patient to wait;The calm, the wise, the witty and the proved,Whom millions honored, and whom millions loved;Swayed by no baleful lust of pride or power,The shining pageants of the passing hour,
Schooled through life's early hardships to endure,
To raise the oppressed, to save and shield the poor;
Prudent in counsel, honest in debate,
Patient to hear and judge, patient to wait;
The calm, the wise, the witty and the proved,
Whom millions honored, and whom millions loved;
Swayed by no baleful lust of pride or power,
The shining pageants of the passing hour,
Led by no scheming arts, no selfish aim,Ambitious for no pomp, nor wealth, nor fame,No planning hypocrite, no pliant tool,A high-born patriot, of Heaven's noblest school;Cool and unshaken in the maddest storm,For in the clouds he traced the Almighty's form;Worn with the weary heart and aching head,Worse than the picket, with his ceaseless tread,
Led by no scheming arts, no selfish aim,
Ambitious for no pomp, nor wealth, nor fame,
No planning hypocrite, no pliant tool,
A high-born patriot, of Heaven's noblest school;
Cool and unshaken in the maddest storm,
For in the clouds he traced the Almighty's form;
Worn with the weary heart and aching head,
Worse than the picket, with his ceaseless tread,
He kept—as bound by some resistlessfate—His broad, strong hand upon the helm of State;Nor turned, in fear, his heart or hope away,Till on the field his tent a ruin lay.His tent, a ruin; but the owner's nameStands on the pinnacle of human fame,Inscribed in lines of light, and nations see,Through him, the people's life and liberty.
He kept—as bound by some resistlessfate—
His broad, strong hand upon the helm of State;
Nor turned, in fear, his heart or hope away,
Till on the field his tent a ruin lay.
His tent, a ruin; but the owner's name
Stands on the pinnacle of human fame,
Inscribed in lines of light, and nations see,
Through him, the people's life and liberty.
What high ideas, what noble acts he taught!To make men free in life, and limb, and thought,To rise, to soar, to scorn the oppressor's rod,To live in grander life, to live for God;topTo stand for justice, freedom and the right,To dare the conflict, strong in God's own might;The methods taught by Him, by him were tried,And he, to conscience true, a martyr died.
What high ideas, what noble acts he taught!
To make men free in life, and limb, and thought,
To rise, to soar, to scorn the oppressor's rod,
To live in grander life, to live for God;
To stand for justice, freedom and the right,
To dare the conflict, strong in God's own might;
The methods taught by Him, by him were tried,
And he, to conscience true, a martyr died.
As the great sun pursues his heavenly wayAnd fills with life and joy the livelong day,Till, the full journey, in glory dressed,He seeks his crimson couch beneath the west;So, with his labor done, our hero sleeps;Above his tomb a ransomed Nation weeps;And grateful pæans o'er his ashesrise—Dear is his fame—his glory never dies.
As the great sun pursues his heavenly way
And fills with life and joy the livelong day,
Till, the full journey, in glory dressed,
He seeks his crimson couch beneath the west;
So, with his labor done, our hero sleeps;
Above his tomb a ransomed Nation weeps;
And grateful pæans o'er his ashesrise—
Dear is his fame—his glory never dies.
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, bring plumes with nodding crests,To wreath the tomb where our great hero rests;Bring pipe and tabret, eloquence and song,And sound the loving tribute, loud and long;A Nation bows, and mourns his honored name,A Nation proudly keeps his deathless fame;Let vale and rock, and hill, and land, and seaHis memory swell—the anthem of the free.
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, bring plumes with nodding crests,
To wreath the tomb where our great hero rests;
Bring pipe and tabret, eloquence and song,
And sound the loving tribute, loud and long;
A Nation bows, and mourns his honored name,
A Nation proudly keeps his deathless fame;
Let vale and rock, and hill, and land, and sea
His memory swell—the anthem of the free.
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