So hidden in the West, God shaped His man.
There in the unspoiled solitudes he grew,
Unwarped by culture and uncramped by creed;
Keeping his course courageous and alone,
As goes the Mississippi to the sea.
His daring spirit burst the narrow bounds,
Rose resolute; and like the sea-called stream,
He tore new channels where he found no way.
The tools were his first teachers, sternly kind.
The plow, the scythe, the maul, the echoing axe
Taught him their homely wisdom and their peace.
He had the plain man's genius-common sense,
Yet rage for knowledge drove his mind afar;
He fed his spirit with the bread of books,
And slaked his thirst at all the wells of thought.
But most he read the heart of common man,
Scanned all its secret pages stained with tears,
Saw all the guile, saw all the piteous pain;
And yet could keep the smile about his lips,
Love and forgive, see all and pardon all;
His only fault, the fault that some of old
Laid even on God—that he was ever wont
To bend the law to let his mercy out.
From the American Magazine
IN him distilled and potent the choice essence of a race! Far back the Puritans-stern and manful visionaries, Repressed poets, flushed with dreams of glowing theol
Each new succession, out of border hardship,
Refined to human use the initial rigor of the breed, Passing to the next the unconscious possession of a perfecting soul!
Each forest clearing gave something of neighborly
The rude play of cabin-bred natural people something
Each mountain home something of inner daring,
Each long-wandering life something of patience and hope!
In the open, far-seen nature gradually chiseled
The deepening wistful eyes.
Each axman and each plowman added
Another filament of ruggedness;
Unknowing minds dumbly cried for liberty;
Mute hearts strove against injustice.
At last was ready the alembic, where Nature stored and set apart
Each generation's finest residue,
Waiting for the hour of perfect mixture-
And then the Miracle!
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Fred Clare Baldwin
WITH Humor's wand in hands to hardship used
He changed the face of poverty's estate;
At Wisdom's fount he drank insatiate;
O'er Destiny's dark sayings deeply mused:
Of large ambition let him be accused;
Though ne'er will our full tide of joy abate
That in the mold which cast a soul so great
Were heart and conscience with ambition fused:
As high in honor as in stature tall,
In vision broader than the plains he trod,
As firm in courage as the buttressed wall,
This child of genius was the friend of God;
And unto him the martyr's task was given,
To reunite a realm by hatred riven.
Charles Godfrey Leland
Now who has done the greatest deed
Which History has ever known?
And who in Freedom's direst need
Became her bravest champion?
Who a whole continent set free?
Who killed the curse and broke the ban Which made a lie of liberty?
You, Father Abraham-you're the man!
The deed is done. Millions have yearned
To see the spear of Freedom cast.
The dragon roared and writhed and burned:
You've smote him full and square at last.
O Great and True! You do not know—
You can not tell-you can not feel
How far through time your name must go,
Honored by all men, high or low,
Where Freedom's votaries kneel.
This wide world takes in many a tongue-
This world boasts many a noble state;
In all your praises will be sung—
In all the great will call you great.
Freedom! where'er that word is known-
On silent shore, by sounding sea,
'Mid millions, or in deserts lone-
Your noble name shall ever be.
The word is out, the deed is done,
The spear is cast, dread no delay;
When such a steed is fairly gone,
Fate never fails to find a way.
Hurrah! hurrah! the track is clear,
We know your policy and plan;
We'll stand by you through every year;
Now, Father Abraham, you're our man.
TO THE SPIRIT OF ABRAHAM
LINCOLN
(Reunion at Gettysburg, 1888)
SHADE of our greatest, O look down to-day!
Here the long, dread midsummer battle roared,
And brother in brother plunged the accursed
sword;-
Here foe meets foe once more in proud array
Yet not as once to harry and to slay
But to strike hands, and with sublime accord Weep tears heroic for the souls that soared Quick from earth's carnage to the starry way. Each fought for what he deemed the people's good, And proved his bravery with his offered life, And sealed his honor with his outpoured blood;
But the Eternal did direct the strife,
And on this sacred field one patriot host
Now calls thee father, dear, majestic ghost!
WHEREVER men are civilized they know
The name of him who gave his life to save
Our seething nation from impending woe,
And found an honored but untimely grave.
Where'er the English tongue is spoken, there
The name of Lincoln finds unstinted praise—
This shoulder-stooped, this toil-worn son of care,
Who bore our burdens through unhappy days.
The name of Lincoln, all around the world,
Is on the lips of statesman, slave, and king;
Where'er the flag of Freedom is unfurled,
They know of Lincoln's toil and suffering,
They know of Lincoln's care and sacrifice,
In all the nations underneath the skies;
Beneath the tropic sun, or 'midst the ice
Of Arctic fields, deservèd fame ne'er dies.
Who can forget the patience, hope, and love
That filled his heart through all the surging years
Of civil strife? the toil and grief thereof,
The faith that led him on through falling tears?
Cheer for the friend, forgiveness for the foe,
With aught of malice in his heart for none;
And when at last the writhing years of woe
Were o'er, rejoicing that the strife was done.
Who can forget the cruel jeers and sneers
Of those who should have helped, but criticized? His heart was filled with pity, not with fears,
Nor by their taunts and threats was he surprised;
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