What better than this voiceless cast
To tell of such a one as he,

Since through its living semblance passed
The thought that bade a race be free!

Edmund Clarence Stedman.

1883.

By special permission of

Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

ON THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM
LINCOLN

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.

Richard Watson Gilder.

1886.

By special permission of
The Century Co.

TO THE SPIRIT OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN (REUNION AT GETTYSBURG TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AFTER THE BAttle)

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!

Richard Watson Gilder.

1888.

By special permission of
The Century Co.

LINCOLN

Chained by stern duty to the rock of state,
His spirit armed in mail of rugged mirth,
Ever above, though ever near to earth,
Yet felt his heart the cruel tongues that sate
Base appetites, and foul with slander, wait

Till the keen lightnings bring the awful hour
When wounds and suffering shall give them power.
Most was he like to Luther, gay and great,
Solemn and mirthful, strong of heart and limb.
Tender and simple too; he was so near
To all things human that he cast out fear,
And, ever simpler, like a little child,

Lived in unconscious nearness unto Him
Who always on earth's little ones hath smiled.

S. Weir Mitchell.

1891.

By special permission of
The Century Co.

From

LINCOLN'S GRAVE

(READ BEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY)

May one who fought in honor for the South
Uncovered stand and sing by Lincoln's grave?
Why, if I shrunk not at the cannon's mouth,
Nor swerved one inch for any battle-wave,
Should I now tremble in this quiet close,
Hearing the prairie wind go lightly by
From billowy plains of grass and miles of corn,
While out of deep repose

The great sweet spirit lifts itself on high
And broods above our land this summer morn?

Is he dead?

Meseems I feel his presence.
Death is a word. He lives and grander grows.
At Gettysburg he bows his bleeding head;
He spreads his arms where Chickamauga flows,
As if to clasp old soldiers to his breast,

Of South or North no matter which they be,
Not thinking of what uniform they wore,
His heart a palimpsest,

Record on record of humanity,

Where love is first and last forevermore.