The Poets' Lincoln Part 17

Frederick Lucian Hosmer, born at Framingham, Ma.s.sachusetts, October 16, 1840. Graduated at Harvard in 1869. Ordained in Unitarian Ministry at Northboro, Ma.s.sachusetts, in 1869. Author of _The Way of Life_, _The Thought of G.o.d, in Hymns and Poems_.

LINCOLN

The prairies to the mountains call, The mountains to the sea; From sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e a nation keeps Her martyr's memory.

Though lowly born, the seal of G.o.d Was in that rugged face; Still from the humble Nazareths come The Saviours of the race.

With patient heart and vision clear He wrought through trying days-- "Malice toward none, with Charity for all,"

Unswerved by blame or praise.

And when the morn of peace broke through The battle's cloud and din, He hailed with joy the promised land, He might now enter in.

He seemed as set by G.o.d apart, The winepress trod alone; He stands forth an uncrowned king, A people's heart his throne.

Land of our loyal love and hope, O Land he died to save, Bow down, renew today thy vows Beside his martyr grave!

Charles Monroe d.i.c.kinson, born at Lowville, New York, November 15, 1842. Educated at Fairfield (New York), Seminary and Lowville Academy.

Admitted to the bar in 1865; practiced law in the State of Pennsylvania, at Binghamton, New York, and in New York City 1865-77, when he abandoned the profession because of broken health. Editor and proprietor of _Binghamton Republican_, 1878-1911. In 1892, upon his suggestion and initiative the various news organizations were combined into the present a.s.sociated Press. Presidential elector, 1896; United States Consul-General to Turkey, 1897-1906; Diplomatic agent to Bulgaria, 1901-1903. While acting in this capacity the American missionary, Ellen M. Stone, was carried off by brigands, but released through his settlement and efforts. Member board to draft regulations for government of American consular service 1906; American Consul-General at-large, 1906-October 1, 1908. Author of _History of d.i.c.kinson Family_, 1885; _The Children and Other Verses_, 1889; part of political history of State of New York, 1911.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

If any one hath doubt or fear That this is Freedom's chosen clime-- That G.o.d hath sown and planted here The richest harvest field of Time-- Let him take heart, throw off his fears, As he looks back a hundred years.

Cities and fields and wealth untold, With equal rights before the law; And, better than all lands and gold-- Such as the old world never saw-- Freedom and peace, the right to be, And honor to those who made us free.

Our greatness did not happen so, We owe it not to chance or fate; In furnace heat, by blow on blow, Were forged the things that make us great; And men still live who bore that heat, And felt those deadly hammers beat.

Not in the pampered courts of kings, Not in the homes that rich men keep, G.o.d calls His Davids with their slings, Or wakes His Samuels from their sleep; But from the homes of toil and need Calls those who serve as well as lead.

Such was the hero of our race; Skilled in the school of common things, He felt the sweat on Labor's face, He knew the pinch of want, the sting The bondman felt, and all the wrong The weak had suffered from the strong.

G.o.d pa.s.sed the waiting centuries by, And kept him for our time of need-- To lead us with his courage high-- To make our country free indeed; Then, that he be by none surpa.s.sed, G.o.d crowned him martyr at the last.

Let speech and pen and song proclaim Our grateful praise this natal morn; Time hath preserved no n.o.bler name, And generations yet unborn Shall swell the pride of those who can Claim Lincoln as their countryman.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FORD'S THEATRE]

The building is a plain brick structure, three stories high, seventy-one feet front and one hundred feet deep. It was originally constructed and occupied as a Baptist Church, but at the beginning of the war was converted into a theatre, though never used for that purpose after the a.s.sa.s.sination of Lincoln. The government purchased it for one hundred thousand dollars, and it is now used as a branch of the Record and Pension Division of the War Department. President Lincoln was shot by J. Wilkes Booth at 10.20 o'clock P.M. on the evening of April 14, 1865, while seated in his private box in the theatre.

SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS!

_By Robert Leighton_

"Sic semper tyrannis!" the a.s.sa.s.sin cried, As Lincoln fell. O villain! who than he More lived to set both slave and tyrant free?

Or so enrapt with plans of freedom died, That even thy treacherous deed shall glance aside And do the dead man's will by land and sea; Win bloodless battles, and make that to be Which to his living mandate was denied!

Peace to that gentle heart! The peace he sought For all mankind, nor for it dies in vain.

Rest to the uncrowned king, who, toiling, brought His bleeding country through that dreadful reign; Who, living, earned a world's revering thought, And, dying, leaves his name without a stain.

_Liverpool, England, May 5, 1865_

[Ill.u.s.tration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Foully a.s.sa.s.sinated, April 14, 1865]

Tom Taylor wrote the following poem, which appeared in the _London Punch_, May 6, 1865. The engraving is a facsimile of the one published in the paper at the head of the poem.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN, FOULLY a.s.sa.s.sINATED

You lay a wreath on murdered LINCOLN'S bier, _You_, who with mocking pencil wont to trace, Broad for self-complacent British sneer, His length of shambling limb, his furrowed face,

His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair, His garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease, His lack of all we prize as debonair, Of power or will to shine, of art to please,

_You_, whose smart pen backed up the pencil's laugh, Judging each step, as though the way were plain: Reckless, so it could point its paragraph, Of chief's perplexity, or people's pain.

Beside this corpse, that bears for winding sheet The Stars and Stripes, he lived to rear anew, Between the mourners at his head and feet, Say, scurrile-jester, is there room for _you_?

Yes, he had lived to shame me from my sneer, To lame my pencil, and confute my pen-- To make me own this hind of princes peer, This rail-splitter a true-born king of men.

My shallow judgment I had learnt to rue, Noting how to occasion's height he rose, How his quaint wit made home-truth seem more true, How, iron-like, his temper grew by blows.

How humble, yet how hopeful he could be; How in good fortune and in ill the same; Nor bitter in success, nor boastful he, Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame.

He went about his work--such work as few Ever had laid on head and heart and hand-- As one who knows, where there's a task to do, Man's honest will must Heaven's good grace command.

Who trusts the strength will with the burden grow, That G.o.d makes instruments to work His will, If but that will we can arrive to know, Nor tamper with the weights of good and ill.

So he went forth to battle, on the side That he felt clear was Liberty's and Right's, As in his peasant boyhood he had plied His warfare with rude Nature's thwarting mights--

The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil, The iron-bark that turned the lumberer's axe, The rapid, that o'erbears the boatmen's toil, The prairie, hiding the mazed wanderer's tracks,

The ambushed Indian, and the prowling bear-- Such were the needs that helped his youth to train; Rough culture--but such trees large fruit may bear, If but their stocks be of right girth and grain.

So he grew up, a destined work to do, And lived to do it--four long-suffering years; Ill-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report, lived through, And then he heard the hisses change to cheers,