IN MEMORIAM-ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE DEDICATION OF THE CEMETERY AT

GETTYSBURG, NOVEMBER 19, 1863.

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

"Now we are engaged in a great civil war; testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

"But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecratewe cannot hallow-this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us-that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion-that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain-that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom-and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

O, CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN !

WALT WHITMAN.

O, Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, 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 grim 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. 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.

Exult, O shores, and ring O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

OUR MARTYR CHIEF.

From the Commemoration Ode.

LOWELL.

Life may be given in many ways,

And loyalty to truth be sealed

As bravely in the closet as in the field,
So generous is Fate;

But then to stand beside her,

When craven churls deride her,
To front a lie in arms and not to yield-
This shows, methinks, God's plan
And measure of a stalwart man,
Limbed like the old heroic breeds,

Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth,
Not forced to frame excuses for his birth,
Fed from within with all the strength he needs.

Such was he, our Martyr-Chief,

Whom late the Nation he had led,

With ashes on her head,

Wept with the passion of an angry grief;
Forgive me, if from present things I turn

To speak what in my heart will beat and burn,
And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn.
Nature, they say, doth dote,

And cannot make a man

Save on some worn-out plan,
Repeating us by rote;

For him her Old-World mould aside she threw,
And, choosing sweet clay from the breast
Of the unexhausted West,

With stuff untainted shaped a hero new,
Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true.

How beautiful to see

Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed,
Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead;

One whose meek flock the people joyed to be,

Not lured by any cheat of birth,

But by his clear-grained human worth,

And brave old wisdom of sincerity!

They knew that outward grace is dust;

They could not choose but trust

In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill,

And supple-tempered will

That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust.

Nothing of Europe here,

Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still,

Ere any names of Serf and Peer

Could Nature's equal scheme deface;
Here was a type of the true elder race,

And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face.
His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind,
Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars,
A seamark now, now lost in vapors blind;

Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined,

Fruitful and friendly for his humankind,

Yet also known to Heaven and friend with all its stars. I praise him not; it were too late ;

And some innative weakness there must be

In him who condescends to victory

Such as the present gives, and cannot wait,

Safe in himself as in a fate.

So always firmly he;

He knew to bide his time,

And can his fame abide,

Still patient in his simple faith sublime,

Till the wise years decide.

Great captains, with their guns and drums,
Disturb our judgment for the hour,

But at last silence comes;

These all are gone, and, standing like a tower,
Our children shall behold his fame,

The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man,
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame,
New birth of our new soil, the first American.

General GREGG. To introduce to an audience such as this, of old soldiers and their sympathizing friends, the General-in-Chief of the Army, would be presumption. I have the pleasure of presenting General Schofield.

Gen. SCHOFIELD. Companions and Ladies and Gentlemen: The great sacrifices made by the people of this country in the long struggle for the preservation of the Union have been returned in blessings upon the nation in many forms. One of the most notable of these is in the development, for the first time in the history of the nation, of the military system peculiar to this country. The gallant soldiers who learned the art of war in four years of service in the field, have by their inspiration, their leadership and instruction, developed the militia of the States of the Union, or National Guard, into the character and positions which properly belong to them in the military system of the United States. This system was not constructed by our forefathers upon the model of that of any other nation, nor did they attempt to build it in accordance with any well-defined military theory, but left it to develop and grow through the necessities of the country and by the application of well-established military principles. Hence that system has always been, in its imperfect state, as well as now in its more highly developed state, essentially different in many important respects from the system of any other country. The most notable perhaps of its characteristics is the composition of the armies of the United States, viz., the exceedingly small proportion of the regular establishment, the much larger proportion of the organized militia or National Guard, and the vastly greater proportion of the reserve forces upon which the country relies in a time of war. The next characteristic is in the high character of the men who compose the line and staff (I speak of the organized forces of the State militia as well as of the regular army), the excellent discipline and the degree of instruction maintained in those forces, of which the type is found in the Military Academy. Starting there with the broadest possible democratic theory of selection and then, by a process of elimination such as is known nowhere else in the world, those