Our American Holidays: Lincoln's Birthday Part 14

The c.u.mberland's manned again!

All the s.h.i.+ps and their men Are in line of battle to-day,-- All at quarters, as when Their last roll thundered away,-- All at their guns, as then, For the Fleet salutes to-day.

The armies have broken camp On the vast and sunny plain, The drums are rolling again; With steady, measured tramp, They're marching all again.

With alignment firm and solemn, Once again they form In mighty square and column,-- But never for charge and storm.

The Old Flag they died under Floats above them on the sh.o.r.e, And on the great s.h.i.+ps yonder The ensigns dip once more-- And once again the thunder Of the thirty guns and four!

In solid platoons of steel, Under heaven's triumphal arch, The long lines break and wheel-- And the word is, "Forward, march!"

The Colors ripple o'erhead, The drums roll up to the sky, And with martial time and tread The regiments all pa.s.s by-- The ranks of our faithful Dead, Meeting their President's eye.

With a soldier's quiet pride They smile o'er the perished pain, For their anguish was not vain-- For thee, O Father, we died!

And we did not die in vain.

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 never had known erewhile-- Never, in time and s.p.a.ce.

Close round him, hearts of pride!

Press near him, side by side,-- Our Father is not alone!

For the Holy Right ye died, And Christ, the Crucified, Waits to welcome His own.

TRIBUTES

A statesman of the school of sound common sense, and a philanthropist of the most practical type, a patriot without a superior--his monument is a country preserved.

_C. S. Harrington._

Now all men begin to see that the plain people, who at last came to love him and to lean upon his wisdom, and trust him absolutely, were altogether right, and that in deed and purpose he was earnestly devoted to the welfare of the whole country, and of all its inhabitants.

_R. B. Hayes._

ABRAHAM LINCOLN[19]

BY JOEL BENTON

Some opulent force of genius, soul, and race, Some deep life-current from far centuries Flowed to his mind, and lighted his sad eyes, And gave his name, among great names, high place.

But these are miracles we may not trace-- Nor say why from a source and lineage mean He rose to grandeur never dreamt or seen, Or told on the long scroll of history's s.p.a.ce.

The tragic fate of one broad hemisphere Fell on stern days to his supreme control, All that the world and liberty held dear Pressed like a nightmare on his patient soul.

Martyr beloved, on whom, when life was done, Fame looked, and saw another Was.h.i.+ngton!

[19] _By permission of the author._

ON THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN[20]

BY RICHARD WATSON GILDER

This bronze doth keep the very form and mold Of our great martyr's face. Yes, this is he: That brow all wisdom, all benignity; That human, humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold Like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold; That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea For storms to beat on; the lone agony Those silent, patient lips too well foretold.

Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men As might some prophet of the elder day-- Brooding above the tempest and the fray With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken.

A power was his beyond the touch of art Or armed strength--his pure and mighty heart.

[20] _By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company._

TRIBUTES

To him belongs the credit of having worked his way up from the humblest position an American freeman can occupy to the highest and most powerful, without losing, in the least, the simplicity and sincerity of nature which endeared him alike to the plantation slave and the metropolitan millionaire.

The most malignant party opposition has never been able to call in question the patriotism of his motives, or tarnish with the breath of suspicion the brightness of his spotless fidelity. Ambition did not warp, power corrupt, nor glory dazzle him.

_Warren H. Cudworth._

By his steady, enduring confidence in G.o.d, and in the complete ultimate success of the cause of G.o.d which is the cause of humanity, more than in any other way does he now speak to us, and to the nation he loved and served so well.

_P. D. Gurley._

Chieftain, farewell! The nation mourns thee. Mothers shall teach thy name to their lisping children. The youth of our land shall emulate thy virtues. Statesmen shall study thy record, and learn lessons of wisdom. Mute though thy lips be, yet they still speak. Hushed is thy voice, but its echoes of liberty are ringing through the world, and the sons of bondage listen with joy.

_Matthew Simpson._

LINCOLN

BY GEORGE HENRY BOKER.

Crown we 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 paeans from the sacred bells!

Nor in your prayers 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 pa.s.sionate, 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 G.o.d's intent; No, something better, freeman,--President!

A nature, modeled on a higher plan, Lord of himself, an inborn gentleman!

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

JAMES A. GARFIELD

In the great drama of the rebellion there were two acts. The first was the war, with its battles and sieges, its victories and defeats, its sufferings and tears. Just as the curtain was lifting on the second and final act, the restoration of peace and liberty, the evil spirit of the rebellion, in the fury of despair, nerved and directed the hand of an a.s.sa.s.sin to strike down the chief character in both. It was no one man who killed Abraham Lincoln; it was the embodied spirit of treason and slavery, inspired with fearful and despairing hate, that struck him down in the moment of the nation's supremest joy.