[Illustration: (Frontispiece)

 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1864]

 The Poets' Lincoln

 TRIBUTES IN VERSE TO THE MARTYRED PRESIDENT

 _Selected by_

 OSBORN H. OLDROYD

 AUTHOR OF "THE ASSASSINATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN" AND EDITOR OF THE "WORDS OF LINCOLN"

 _With many portraits of Lincoln, illustrations of events in his life, etc. _

 PUBLISHED BY THE EDITOR AT "THE HOUSE WHERE LINCOLN DIED"

 WASHINGTON, D. C. 

 1915

 Copyright 1915, by OSBORN H. OLDROYD

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

The Editor is most grateful to the various authors who have willinglygiven their consent to the use of their respective poems in thecompilation of this volume. It has been a somewhat difficult problem, not only to select the more appropriate productions, but also to findthe names of their authors, for in his Lincoln collection there aremany hundreds of poems which have appeared from time to time inmagazines, newspapers and other productions, some of which areaccompanied by more than one name as author of the same poem. In anumber of instances it has been difficult to ascertain the name of theactual owner of the copyright, the poems having been printed in somany forms without the copyright mark attached. 

The Editor in particular extends his grateful acknowledgment to theHoughton Mifflin Company for permission to reprint the "EmancipationGroup" by John G. Whittier; the "Life Mask" by Richard Watson Gilder;"The Hand of Lincoln" by Clarence Stedman; "Commemoration Ode" byJames Russell Lowell, and the "Gettysburg Address" by Bayard Taylor;to Charles Scribner's Sons for two "Lincoln" poems by Richard HenryStoddard; and to the J. B. Lippincott Company for the poem "Lincoln"by George Henry Boker. 

The Editor is also grateful to Dr. Marion Mills Miller for hiscontribution of the introduction and a poem specially written for thecollection, and also for assistance in the editorial work. 

FOREWORD

No great man has ever been spoken of with such tender expressions ofhigh regard as has been Abraham Lincoln. Especially is this true of thetributes of esteem made by the poets to his memory. It is thereforedesirable that these should be preserved for future generations, and atthis time, the fiftieth anniversary of his untimely death, it ispeculiarly proper that they should be presented to the public. 

Although they are chiefly the productions of American authors, quite anumber are from the pens of appreciative citizens of other countries. From the thousand of meritorious poems which have been written aboutLincoln, the compiler, after serious consideration, has selected thosewithin as appearing to be gems; although there were others which hewould have been glad to include if space permitted. 

The poems and illustrations are arranged largely in the chronologicalorder of their application to the events in the life of Lincoln. Theintense sympathy and warm appreciation portrayed therein for ourMartyred President, as well as their artistic merit assure the poemsa sacred place in the heart of every patriotic American. 

The large number of selected portraits and illustrations of eventsconnected with his life, service, death and burial, with briefsketches of authors of the following poems, also forms a compilationof rich material for all readers of Lincoln literature. 

The object in publishing this compilation is to assist in preservingthe collection of memorials now contained in the house in whichLincoln died, 516 Tenth Street, Washington, D. C. 

The volume will be sent postpaid by the Editor at the above address, upon receipt of its price, $1. 00. 

 OSBORN H. OLDROYD. 

 Washington, D. C. , September twelve, Nineteen hundred and fifteen. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE INTRODUCTION--The Poetic Spirit of Lincoln, by Marion Mills Miller . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . V MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME I SEE AGAIN, by Abraham Lincoln . .. .. .. .. . Vi BUT HERE'S AN OBJECT MORE OF DREAD, by Abraham Lincoln . .. .. Viii OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? By William Knox . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Ix SPEECH AT GETTYSBURG (in verse form), by Abraham Lincoln . .. Xiii SOLILOQUY OF KING CLAUDIUS, by William Shakespeare . .. .. .. .. Xvii LINCOLN, by Julia Ward Howe . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 14 THE GREAT OAK, by Bennett Chapple . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 15 LINCOLN, by Noah Davis . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 17 THE BIRTH OF LINCOLN, by George W. Crofts . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 19 MENDELSSOHN, DARWIN, LINCOLN, by Clarence E. Carr . .. .. .. .. .. .. . 20 THE NATAL DAY OF LINCOLN, by James Phinney Baxter . .. .. .. .. .. .. . 22 NANCY HANKS, by Harriet Monroe . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 25 LINCOLN THE LABORER, by Richard Henry Stoddard . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 29 A PEACEFUL LIFE, by James Whitcomb Riley . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 31 LEADER OF HIS PEOPLE, by William Wilberforce Newton . .. .. .. .. .. . 32 LINCOLN, by Wilbur Hazelton Smith . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 35 LINCOLN IN HIS OFFICE CHAIR, by James Riley . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 37 THE VOICE OF LINCOLN, by Elizabeth Porter Gould . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 41 THE THOUGHTS OF LINCOLN, by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps . .. .. .. .. .. . 43 ON THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Richard Watson Gilder . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 45 THE HAND OF LINCOLN, by Edmund Clarence Stedman . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 47 HONEST ABE OF THE WEST, by Edmund Clarence Stedman . .. .. .. .. .. .. 51 PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN, 1860, by William Henry Burleigh . .. .. .. .. 53 LINCOLN, 1809--FEBRUARY 12, 1909, by Madison Cawein . .. .. .. .. .. . 56 THE MATCHLESS LINCOLN, by Isaac Bassett Choate . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 59 LINCOLN, by Charlotte Becker . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 61 LINCOLN AT SPRINGFIELD, 1861, by Anna Bache . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 65 LINCOLN CALLED TO THE PRESIDENCY, by Henry Wilson Clendenin . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 70 LINCOLN THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE, by Edwin Markham . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 74 LINCOLN, by John Vance Cheney . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 76 LINCOLN'S CHURCH IN WASHINGTON, by Lyman Whitney Allen . .. .. .. .. 80 SONNET IN 1862, by John James Piatt . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 83 LINCOLN, SOLDIER OF CHRIST, in Macmillan's Magazine . .. .. .. .. .. . 85 A CHARACTERIZATION OF LINCOLN, by Hamilton Schuyler . .. .. .. .. .. . 87 THE EMANCIPATION GROUP, by John Greenleaf Whittier . .. .. .. .. .. .. 91 THE LIBERATOR, by Theron Brown . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 94 TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN, by Edmund Ollier . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 96 ON FREEDOM'S SUMMIT, by Charles G. Foltz . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 98 ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE DEDICATION OF THE CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG, by Abraham Lincoln . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 100 GETTYSBURG ODE, by Bayard Taylor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 102 LINCOLN'S SECOND INAUGURAL, by Benjamin Franklin Taylor . .. .. .. 104 OH, PATIENT EYES! by Herman Hagedorn . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 107 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Margaret Elizabeth Sangster . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 109 THE MAN LINCOLN, by Wilbur Dick Nesbit . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 113 THE MASTER, by Edwin Arlington Robinson . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 116 LINCOLN, by Harriet Monroe . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 119 THE EYES OF LINCOLN, by Walt Mason . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 121 HE LEADS US STILL, by Arthur Guiterman . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 123 LINCOLN, by S. Weir Mitchell . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 125 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by George Alfred Townsend . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 126 LINCOLN, by Paul Lawrence Dunbar . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 128 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Alice Cary . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 130 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Rose Terry Cooke . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 132 LINCOLN, by Frederick Lucian Hosmer . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 134 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Charles Monroe Dickinson . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 136 SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS! by Robert Leighton . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 139 ABRAHAM LINCOLN FOULLY ASSASSINATED, by Tom Taylor . .. .. .. .. .. . 140 THE DEATHBED . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 144 LINCOLN AND STANTON, by Marion Mills Miller . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 146 THE HOUSE WHERE LINCOLN DIED, by Robert Mackay . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 151 IN TOKEN OF RESPECT, Translation of Latin Verses . .. .. .. .. .. .. . 152 ENGLAND'S SORROW, from _London Fun_ . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 153 THE FUNERAL HYMN OF LINCOLN, by Phineas Densmore Gurley . .. .. .. 155 REST, REST FOR HIM, by Harriet McEwen Kimball . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 157 THE FUNERAL CAR OF LINCOLN, by Richard Henry Stoddard . .. .. .. .. 159 THE DEATH OF LINCOLN, by William Cullen Bryant . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 161 ODE, by Henry T. Tuckerman . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 163 TOLLING, by Lucy Larcom . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 164 REQUIEM OF LINCOLN, by Richard Storrs Willis . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 167 REQUIEM, by James Nicoll Johnston . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 168 SERVICES IN MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Oliver Wendell Holmes . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 170 SPRINGFIELD'S WELCOME TO LINCOLN, by William Allen . .. .. .. .. .. . 173 LINCOLN, by Lucy Hamilton Hooper . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 175 LET THE PRESIDENT SLEEP, by James M. Stewart . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 179 THE CENOTAPH OF LINCOLN, by James Mackay . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 181 DEDICATION POEM, by James Judson Lord . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 183 THE GRAVE OF LINCOLN, by Edna Dean Proctor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 186 COMMEMORATION ODE, by James Russell Lowell . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 189 AN HORATIAN ODE, by Richard Henry Stoddard . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 193 O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! by Walt Whitman . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 197 ON THE ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLN, by Henry De Garrs . .. .. .. .. .. . 200 POETICAL TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Emily J. Bugbee . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 201 LINCOLN, 1865, by John Nichol . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 204 LINCOLN, by Christopher Pearse Cranch . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 206 LINCOLN, by George Henry Boker . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 208 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Phoebe Cary . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 210 LINCOLN, by Charles Graham Halpin ("Miles O'Reilly") . .. .. .. .. . 215 THE MARTYR PRESIDENT . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 219 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, by Eugene J. Hall . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 220 THE TOMB OF LINCOLN, by Samuel Francis Smith . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 222 LINCOLN, by John Townsend Trowbridge . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 227 HOMAGE DUE TO LINCOLN, by Kinahan Cornwallis . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 229 THE SCOTLAND STATUE, by David K. Watson . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 231 THE UNFINISHED WORK, by Joseph Fulford Folsom . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 234 ONE OF OUR PRESIDENTS, by Wendell Philips Stafford . .. .. .. .. .. . 236 ON A BRONZE MEDAL OF LINCOLN, by Frank Dempster Sherman . .. .. .. 239 THE GLORY THAT SLUMBERED IN THE GRANITE ROCK, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 241 THE LINCOLN BOULDER, by Louis Bradford Couch . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 243 WHEN LINCOLN DIED, by James Arthur Edgerton . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 247 HAD LINCOLN LIVED, by Amos Russell Wells . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 250 LET HIS MONUMENT RISE, by Samuel Green Wheeler Benjamin . .. .. .. 253

ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1864 . .. .. .. _Frontispiece_ LINCOLN, from a Bust by Johannes Gelert . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Iv THE LOG CABIN, Birthplace of Lincoln . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 13 LINCOLN BY THE CABIN FIRE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 16 MENDELSSOHN, DARWIN, LINCOLN . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 20 MONUMENT TO THE MOTHER OF LINCOLN . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 25 THE RAIL SPLITTER . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 28 THE BOY LINCOLN, by Eastman Johnson . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 30 LINCOLN THE LAWYER, from an Ambrotype, 1856 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 34 LINCOLN'S OFFICE CHAIR . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 36 LINCOLN AS A CANDIDATE FOR UNITED STATES SENATOR, from an Ambrotype by Gilmer, 1858 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 40 LINCOLN AT THE TIME OF DEBATE WITH DOUGLAS, from an Ambrotype, 1858 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 42 THE LINCOLN LIFE-MASK, by Leonard W. Volk . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 44 THE HAND OF LINCOLN, a Cast by Leonard W. Volk . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 46 HON. ABRAHAM LINCOLN, REPUBLICAN CANDIDATE FOR THE PRESIDENCY, 1860, painted by Hicks . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 49 THE "WIGWAM, " Convention Hall in Chicago, 1860 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 50 LINCOLN AS CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT, from an Ambrotype, 1860 . .. . 52 "HONEST ABE, " Campaign Cartoon of 1860 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 55 LINCOLN AS CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT, Photograph by Hesler, Chicago, 1860 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 58 LINCOLN AS CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT, Photograph at Springfield, Ill. , 1860 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 60 CABIN OF LINCOLN'S PARENTS, on Goose-Nest Prairie, Ill. . .. .. .. . 62 LINCOLN HOMESTEAD, Springfield, Ill. , 1861 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 64 PRESIDENT LINCOLN AND HIS SECRETARIES, JOHN G. NICOLAY AND JOHN HAY, Photograph at Springfield, Ill. , 1861 . .. .. .. .. . 67 INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 69 LINCOLN IN 1858, Photograph by S. M. Fassett, Chicago . .. .. .. .. . 71 THE CAPITOL, at Second Inauguration of Lincoln . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 73 THE WHITE HOUSE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 76 WHERE LINCOLN WORSHIPPED, New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, Washington, D. C. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 79 LINCOLN IN 1858, Photograph Owned by Stuart Brown, Springfield, Ill. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 82 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph Autographed for Miss Speed . .. .. .. 84 LINCOLN IN FEBRUARY, 1860, Photograph by Brady . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 86 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Gardner . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 88 EMANCIPATION GROUP, in Park Square, Boston . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 90 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1863 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 93 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Gardner, 1863 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 95 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 97 LINCOLN AT GETTYSBURG . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 100 PRESIDENT LINCOLN AND HIS SON THOMAS ("TAD") . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 103 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 106 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 108 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Gardner, 1864 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 112 PRESIDENT LINCOLN AT ANTIETAM . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 115 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Gardner, 1864 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 118 PRESIDENT-ELECT LINCOLN, Photograph at Springfield, Ill. , 1861 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 120 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1862 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 122 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1864 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 124 STATUE OF LINCOLN in Hodgenville, Ky. ; Adolph A. Weinman, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 126 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1864 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 128 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Gardner, 1865 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 130 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Gardner, 1865 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 132 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1865 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 134 FORD'S THEATRE, WASHINGTON, D. C. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 138 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, FOULLY ASSASSINATED, Cartoon in London _Punch_ . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 140 DEATHBED OF LINCOLN . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 144 ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND EDWIN M. STANTON . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 146 DEATH OF LINCOLN . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 149 HOUSE IN WHICH LINCOLN DIED . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 150 JOSEPHINE OLDROYD TIEFENTHALER . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 150 THE FUNERAL OF LINCOLN, in East Room of White House . .. .. .. .. .. 154 THE FUNERAL CAR . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 158 CITY HALL, NEW YORK, N. Y. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 162 ROTUNDA, CITY HALL . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 166 ST. JAMES HALL, BUFFALO, N. Y. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 168 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1863 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 170 LINCOLN HOMESTEAD, May 4, 1865 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 172 STATE CAPITOL, ILLINOIS, 1865 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 175 PUBLIC VAULT, OAK RIDGE CEMETERY, SPRINGFIELD, ILL. . .. .. .. .. .. 178 FACADE OF PUBLIC VAULT . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 180 LINCOLN MONUMENT, in Springfield, Ill. , Larken G. Mead, Architect . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 182 STATUE OF LINCOLN, Lincoln Park, Washington, D. C. , Thomas Ball, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 188 STATUE OF LINCOLN, by Leonard W. Volk . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 192 "THE GOOD GRAY POET" (Walt Whitman) . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 196 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Washington, D. C. ; Lott Flannery, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 199 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Muskegon, Mich. ; Charles Niehaus, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 203 LINCOLN AND CABINET ("First Reading of Emancipation Proclamation"), Painted by Frank B. Carpenter . .. .. .. .. .. 206 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia, Randolph Rogers, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 208 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, Photograph by Brady, 1864 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 210 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Lincoln Park, Chicago; Augustus Saint Gaudens, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 214 TABLET AT PHILADELPHIA . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 218 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Rotunda of Capitol; Vinnie Ream, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 222 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Lincoln, Neb. ; Daniel Chester French, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 226 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Burlington, Wis. ; George E. Ganiere, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 228 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Edinburgh, Scotland; George E. Bissell, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 231 STATUE OF LINCOLN, in Newark, N. J. ; Gutzon Borglum, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 234 CHILDREN ON THE BORGLUM STATUE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 236 HEAD OF LINCOLN, Bronze Medallion in Commemoration of Lincoln Centenary, Struck for the Grand Army of the Republic . .. . 238 MARBLE HEAD OF LINCOLN, in Statuary Hall, Capitol; Gutzon Borglum, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 240 THE LINCOLN BOULDER, at Nyack, N. Y. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 243 BAS-RELIEF HEAD OF LINCOLN, James W. Tuft, sculptor . .. .. .. .. .. 246 A STUDY OF LINCOLN, Painting by Blendon Campbell . .. .. .. .. .. .. . 249 THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL, at Washington, D. C. , Henry Bacon, architect . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 252

 [Illustration: LINCOLN

 From a bust by Johannes Gelert]

 INTRODUCTION

 THE POETIC SPIRIT OF LINCOLN

 By MARION MILLS MILLER

 (See biographical sketch on page 146)

Some years ago, while editing Henry C. Whitney's "Life of Lincoln" Ishowed a photograph of the bust of Lincoln by Johannes Gelert, the mostintellectual to my mind of all the studies of his face, to a littleItalian shoeblack, and asked him if he knew who it was. The boy, evidently prompted by a recent lesson at school, said questioningly, "Whittier?--Longfellow?" I replied, "No, it is Lincoln, the greatPresident. " He answered, "Well, he looks like a poet, anyway. "

This verified a conclusion to which I had already come: Lincoln, hadhe lived in a region of greater culture, such as New England, mightnot have adopted the engrossing pursuits of law and politics, but, asdid Whittier, have remained longer on the farm and gradually taken upthe calling of letters, composing verse of much the same order as ourYankee bards', and poetry of even higher merit than some produced. 

It is not generally known that Lincoln, shortly before he went toCongress, wrote verse of a kind to compare favorably with the earlyattempts of American poets such as those named. Thus the two poems ofhis which have been preserved, for his early lampoons on his neighborshave happily been lost, are equal in poetic spirit and metrical art toWhittier's "The Prisoner for Debt, " to which they are strikinglysimilar in melancholic mood. 

In 1846, at the age of 37, Lincoln conducted a literary correspondencewith a friend, William Johnson by name, of like poetic tastes. InApril of this year he wrote the following letter to Johnson:

 Tremont, April 18, 1846. 

 FRIEND JOHNSTON: Your letter, written some six weeks since, was received in due course, and also the paper with the parody. It is true, as suggested it might be, that I have never seen Poe's "Raven"; and I very well know that a parody is almost entirely dependent for its interest upon the reader's acquaintance with the original. Still there is enough in the polecat, self-considered, to afford one several hearty laughs. I think four or five of the last stanzas are decidedly funny, particularly where Jeremiah "scrubbed and washed, and prayed and fasted. "

 I have not your letter now before me; but, from memory, I think you ask me who is the author of the piece I sent you, and that you do so ask as to indicate a slight suspicion that I myself am the author. Beyond all question, I am not the author. I would give all I am worth, and go in debt, to be able to write so fine a piece as I think that is. Neither do I know who is the author. I met it in a straggling form in a newspaper last summer, and I remember to have seen it once before, about fifteen years ago, and this is all I know about it. 

 The piece of poetry of my own which I alluded to, I was led to write under the following circumstances. In the fall of 1844, thinking I might aid some to carry the State of Indiana for Mr. Clay, I went into the neighborhood in that State in which I was raised, where my mother and only sister were buried, and from which I had been absent about fifteen years. 

 That part of the country is, within itself, as unpoetical as any spot of the earth; but still, seeing it and its objects and inhabitants aroused feelings in me which were certainly poetry; though whether my expression of those feelings is poetry is quite another question. When I got to writing, the change of subject divided the thing into four little divisions or cantos, the first only of which I send you now, and may send the others hereafter. 

 Yours truly, A. LINCOLN. 

 My childhood's home I see again, And sadden with the view; And still, as memory crowds my brain, There's pleasure in it too. 

 O Memory! thou midway world 'Twixt earth and paradise, Where things decayed and loved ones lost In dreamy shadows rise, And, freed from all that's earthly vile, Seem hallowed, pure and bright, Like scenes in some enchanted isle All bathed in liquid light. 

 As dusky mountains please the eye When twilight chases day; As bugle-notes that, passing by, In distance die away;

 As leaving some grand waterfall, We, lingering, list its roar-- So memory will hallow all We've known but know no more. 

 Near twenty years have passed away Since here I bid farewell To woods and fields, and scenes of play, And playmates loved so well. 

 Where many were, but few remain Of old familiar things; But seeing them to mind again The lost and absent brings. 

 The friends I left that parting day, How changed, as time has sped! Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray; And half of all are dead. 

 I hear the loved survivors tell How nought from death could save, Till every sound appears a knell, And every spot a grave. 

 I range the fields with pensive tread, And pace the hollow rooms, And feel (companion of the dead) I'm living in the tombs. 

In September he wrote the following letter:

 Springfield, September 6, 1846. 

 FRIEND JOHNSTON: You remember when I wrote you from Tremont last spring, sending you a little canto of what I called poetry, I promised to bore you with another some time. I now fulfil the promise. The subject of the present one is an insane man; his name is Matthew Gentry. He is three years older than I, and when we were boys we went to school together. He was rather a bright lad, and the son of the rich man of a very poor neighborhood. At the age of nineteen he unaccountably became furiously mad, from which condition he gradually settled down into harmless insanity. When, as I told you in my other letter, I visited my old home in the fall of 1844, I found him still lingering in this wretched condition. In my poetizing mood, I could not forget the impression his case made upon me. Here is the result:

 But here's an object more of dread Than aught the grave contains-- A human form with reason fled, While wretched life remains. 

 When terror spread, and neighbors ran Your dangerous strength to bind, And soon, a howling, crazy man, Your limbs were fast confined;

 How then you strove and shrieked aloud, Your bones and sinews bared; And fiendish on the gazing crowd With burning eyeballs glared;

 And begged and swore, and wept and prayed, With maniac laughter joined; How fearful were these signs displayed By pangs that killed the mind!

 And when at length the drear and long Time soothed thy fiercer woes, How plaintively thy mournful song Upon the still night rose!

 I've heard it oft as if I dreamed, Far distant, sweet and lone, The funeral dirge it ever seemed Of reason dead and gone. 

 To drink its strains I've stole away, All stealthily and still, Ere yet the rising god of day Had streaked the eastern hill. 

 Air held her breath; trees with the spell Seemed sorrowing angels round, Whose swelling tears in dewdrops fell Upon the listening ground. 

 But this is past, and naught remains That raised thee o'er the brute: Thy piercing shrieks and soothing strains Are like, forever mute. 

 Now fare thee well! More thou the cause Than subject now of woe. All mental pangs by time's kind laws Hast lost the power to know. 

 O death! thou awe-inspiring prince That keepst the world in fear, Why dost thou tear more blest ones hence, And leave him lingering here?

 If I should ever send another, the subject will be a "Bear Hunt. "

 Yours as ever, A. LINCOLN. 

The poem alluded to in the first letter is undoubtedly "Oh, Why Shouldthe Spirit of Mortal Be Proud?", by William Knox, a Scottish poet, known to fame only by its authorship. It remained the favorite ofLincoln until his death, being frequently alluded to by him inconversation with his friends. Because it so aptly presents Lincoln'sown spirit it is here presented in full. During his Presidency hesaid:

 "There is a poem which has been a great favorite with me for years, which was first shown me when a young man by a friend, and which I afterwards saw and cut from a newspaper and learned by heart. I would give a good deal to know who wrote it, but I have never been able to ascertain. "

Then, half closing his eyes, he repeated the verses:

 OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD?

 By WILLIAM KNOX. 

 William Knox was born at Firth, in the parish of Lilliesleaf, in the county of Roxburghshire, on the 17th of August, 1789. From his early youth he composed verses. He merited the attention of Sir Walter Scott, who afforded him pecuniary assistance. He died November 12, 1825, at the age of thirty-six. 

 Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, The flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passes from life to his rest in the grave. 

 The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around and together be laid; And the young and the old, and the low and the high Shall molder to dust and together shall lie. 

 The infant a mother attended and loved, The mother that infant's affection who proved, The husband that mother and infant who blest, Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. 

 The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure, her triumphs are by; And the mem'ry of those who loved her and praised Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

 The hand of the king that the scepter hath borne, The brow of the priest that the miter hath worn, The eye of the sage and the heart of the brave Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 

 The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep, The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 

 The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven, The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 

 So the multitude goes like the flower or the weed That withers away to let others succeed, So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told. 

 For we are the same that our fathers have been; We see the same sights our fathers have seen; We drink the same streams, and view the same sun, And run the same course our fathers have run. 

 The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think, From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink; To the life we are clinging they also would cling, But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing. 

 They loved, but the story we cannot unfold; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; They grieved, but no wail from their slumber will come; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. 

 They died, ay, they died. We things that are now, That walk on the turf that lies over their brow, And make in their dwellings a transient abode, Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. 

 Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, Are mingled together in sunshine and rain: And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge, Still follow each other like surge upon surge. 

 'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded salon to the bier and the shroud, -- Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

"The Last Leaf, " by Oliver Wendell Holmes, was also a favorite poem ofLincoln, says Henry C. Whitney, his friend and biographer (in his"Life of Lincoln, " Vol. I, page 238):

"Over and over again I have heard him repeat:

 The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom; And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. 

and tears would come unbidden to his eyes, probably at thought of thegrave (his mother's) at Gentryville, or that in the bend of theSangamo" (of Ann Rutledge, his first love, who died shortly before thetime set for their wedding, and whose memory Lincoln ever keptsacred). 

While Lincoln, so far as can be ascertained, wrote nothing in verseafter 1846, he developed in his speeches a literary style which ispoetical in the highest sense of that term. More than all Americanstatesmen his utterances and writings possess that classic qualitywhose supreme expression is found in Greek literature. This is becauseLincoln had an essentially Hellenic mind. First of all thearchitecture of his thought was that of the Greek masters, who, whether as Phidias they built the Parthenon to crown with harmoniousbeauty the Acropolis, or as Homer they recorded in swelling narrativefrom its dramatic beginning the strife of the Achaeans before Troy, oreven as Euclid, they developed from postulates the relations of space, had a deep insight into the order in which mother nature was strivingto express herself, and a reverent impulse to aid her in bodying forthaccording to her methods the ideal forms of the cosmos, the world ofbeauty, no less within the soul of man than without it, which wasintended by such help to be realized as a whole in the infinity oftime, and in part in the vision of every true workman. In short, Lincoln had a profound sense of the fitness of things, that whichAristotle, the scientific analyst of human thought and the philosopherof its proper expression, called "poetic justice. " He strove to makehis reasoning processes strictly logical, and to this end carried withhim as he rode the legal circuit not law-books, but a copy of Euclid'sgeometry, and passed his time on the way demonstrating to his driversthe theorems therein proposed. "Demonstrate" he said he considered tobe the greatest word in the English language. He constructed every oneof his later speeches on the plan of a Euclidean solution. His CooperUnion speech on "Slavery as the Fathers Viewed It, " which contributedso largely to his Presidential nomination, was such a demonstration, settling what was thereafter never attempted to be controverted: hiscontention that the makers of the Constitution merely toleratedproperty in human flesh and blood as a primitive and passing phase ofcivilization, and never intended that it should be perpetuated by thecharter of the Republic. 

So, too, the Gettysburg speech, brief as it is, is the statement of athesis, the principles upon which the Fathers founded the nation, andof the heroic demonstration of the same by the soldiers fallen on thefield, and the addition of a moral corollary of this, the high resolveof the living to prosecute the work until the vision of the Fatherswas realized. 

In substance of thought and in form of its presentation the speech isas perfect a poem as ever was written, and even in the minor qualitiesof artistic language--rhythm and cadence, phonetic euphony, rhetoricalsymbolism, and that subtle reminiscence of a great literary andspiritual inheritance, the Bible, which stands to us as Homer did tothe ancients--it excels the finest gem to be found in poetic cabinetsfrom the Greek Anthology downward. Only because it was not written inthe typography of verse, with capitalized and paragraphed initialwords at the beginning of each thought-group of words, has it failedof recognition as a poem by academic minds. Had Walt Whitman composedthe address, and printed it in the above manner, it would now appearin every anthology of poetry published since its date. To convince ofthis those conventional people who must have an ocular demonstrationof form in order to compare the address with accepted examples ofpoetry, I will dare to incur the condemnation of those who rightlylook upon such a departure from Lincoln's own manner of writing thespeech as profanation, and present it in the shape of _vers libre_. For the latter class of readers this, the greatest poem by Lincoln, the greatest, indeed, yet produced in America, may be preferably readin the original form on page 100 of this collection. I trust thatthese, especially if they are teachers of literature, will pardon, forthe sake of others less cultivated in poetic taste, what may appear aduplication here, unnecessary to themselves, of the address. 

 SPEECH AT GETTYSBURG

 By ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 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 consecrate-- We 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 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, and for the people Shall not perish from the earth. 

Lincoln attained this classic perfection of ordered thought, and withit, as an inevitable accompaniment this classic beauty of expression, only by great struggle. He became a poet of the first rank only byvirtue of his moral spirit. He was continually correcting deficienciesin his character, which were far greater than is generally received, owing to the tendency of American historians of the tribe of ParsonWeems to find by force illustrations of moral heroism in the youth ofour great men. Thus Lincoln is represented as a noble lad, who, havingallowed a borrowed book to be ruined by rain, went to the owner andoffered to "pull fodder" to repay him, which the man ungenerouslypermitted him to do. The truth is, that the neighbor, to whom the bookwas a cherished possession, required him to do the work in repayment, and that Lincoln not only did it grudgingly, but afterwards lampoonedthe man so severely in satiric verse that he was ashamed to show himselfat neighborhood gatherings. All the people about Gentryville fearedLincoln's caustic wit, and disliked him for it, although they weregreatly impressed with his ability exhibited thereby. Lincoln recognizedhis moral obliquity, and curbed his propensity for satire, which was acase of that "exercise of natural faculty" which affects all giftedpersons. And when he left that region he visited all the neighbors, andasked pardon of those whom he had ridiculed. The true Lincoln is a farbetter example to boys than the fictitious one, in that he had moreunlovely traits at first than the average lad, yet he reformed, with theresult that, when he went to new scenes, he speedily became the mostpopular young man in the neighborhood. He was one of those who

 "rise on stepping stones Of their dead selves to higher things. "

The reformation of his character by self examination and determinationnot to make the same mistake again seems to have induced similareffects and methods for their attainment in the case of hisintellectual development. Whatever the connection, both regenerationsproceeded apace. Lincoln at first was a shallow thinker, acceptingwithout examination the views of others, especially popular statesmen, such as Henry Clay, whose magnetic personality was drawing to himselfthe high-spirited young men of the West. Some of the politicaldoctrines which Lincoln then adopted he retained to the end, thesebeing on subjects such as taxation and finance whose moral bearing wasnot apparent, and therefore into which he never inquired closely, forLincoln's mind could not be profoundly interested in any save a moralquestion. When he found that a revered statesman was weak upon acrucial moral issue, he repressed his innate tendency to loyalty andrejected him. Thus, after a visit to Henry Clay in Kentucky, when theslavery question was arising to vex the country despite the effortsthe aged statesman had made to settle it by the compromise of 1850, Lincoln returned disillusioned, having found that the light he himselfpossessed on the subject was clearer than that of his old leader. Theeulogy which he delivered on the death of Clay, which occurred shortlyafterward (in 1852), is the most perfunctory of all his addresses. 

Indeed, not till the time of the Repeal of the Missouri Compromise of1854, which brought Lincoln back into politics by its overthrow ofwhat he regarded as the constitutional exclusion of slavery from theTerritories, did he rise to his highest powers as a thinker andspeaker. Lincoln had been defeated for reelection to Congress becauseof his opposition, though not highly moral in character, to thepopular Mexican war, and, regarding himself as a political failure, hehad devoted himself to law. His most notable speech in the House ofRepresentatives, a well composed satirical arraignment of PresidentPolk for throwing the country into war, had failed utterly of itsintended effect, probably because of its trimming partisan tone. In1854 he was relieved of the trammels of party, the Whigs having goneto smash. Anti-slavery had become a great moral movement, and he wasdrawn into its current. Almost at once he became its Western leader. His speech against the Repeal of the Missouri Compromise which hadbeen effected by his inveterate antagonist, Senator Stephen A. Douglas, was his first classic achievement in argumentative oratory. While in the greater aspect of artistic composition, the form of theaddress as a whole, his master was Euclid, in minor points theinfluence of Shakespeare, of whom Lincoln had become a great reader, was apparent, as indicated by a quotation from the dramatist, and anapplication to Senator Douglas of the scene of Lady Macbeth trying towash out the indelible stain upon her hand. Also the Bible was thesource of strong and telling phrases and figures of speech. Thus hedenominated slavery as "the great Behemoth of danger, " and asked, "shall the strong grip of the nation be loosened upon him, to intrusthim to the hands of his feeble keepers?"

And, in the following passage, characteristic of the new Lincoln, Ithink that either Shakespeare and the Bible had combined to inspirehim with graphic description of character and moral indignation, orthey enforced these native powers. 

"Again, you have among you a sneaking individual of the class ofnative tyrants known as the 'Slave-Dealer'. He watches yournecessities, and crawls up to buy your slave at a speculative price. If you cannot help it, you sell to him; but if you can help it, youdrive him from your door. You despise him utterly. You do notrecognize him as a friend, or even as an honest man. Your childrenmust not play with his; they may rollick freely with the littlenegroes, but not with the slave-dealer's children. If you are obligedto deal with him you try to get through the job without so much astouching him. It is common with you to join hands with the men youmeet, but with the slave-dealer you avoid the ceremony--instinctivelyshrinking from the snaky contact. "

Of Lincoln's critical appreciation of Shakespeare Frank B. Carpenter, the artist of the "First Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation"(see illustration on page 206), writes in his "Six Months at the WhiteHouse with Abraham Lincoln" as follows:

"Presently the conversation turned upon Shakspeare, of whom it is wellknown Mr. Lincoln was very fond. He once remarked, 'It matters not tome whether Shakspeare be well or ill acted; with him the thoughtsuffices. ' Edwin Booth was playing an engagement at this time atGrover's Theatre. He had been announced for the coming evening in hisfamous part of _Hamlet_. The President had never witnessed hisrepresentation of this character, and he proposed being present. Themention of this play, which I afterward learned had at all times apeculiar charm for Mr. Lincoln's mind, waked up a train of thought Iwas not prepared for. Said he, --and his words have often returned tome with a sad interest since his own assassination, --'There is onepassage of the play of "Hamlet" which is very apt to be slurred overby the actor, or omitted altogether, which seems to me the choicestpart of the play. It is the soliloquy of the King, after the murder. It always struck me as one of the finest touches of nature in theworld. '

"Then, throwing himself into the very spirit of the scene, he tookup the words:--

 "'O my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, A brother's murder!--Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will; My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offence; And what's in prayer but this twofold force-- To be forestalled ere we come to fall, Or pardoned, being down? Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But O what form of prayer Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder?-- That cannot be; since I am still possessed Of those effects for which I did the murder, -- My crown, my own ambition, and my queen. May one be pardoned and retain the offence? In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law; but 'tis not so _above_. There is no shuffling; there the action lies In its true nature; and we ourselves compelled, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? What rests? Try what repentance can; what can it not? Yet what can it when one cannot repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O bruised soul that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels, make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! And heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe; All may be well!'

"He repeated this entire passage from memory, with a feeling andappreciation unsurpassed by anything I ever witnessed upon the stage. Remaining in thought for a few moments, he continued:--

"'The opening of the play of "King Richard the Third" seems to me oftenentirely misapprehended. It is quite common for an actor to come uponthe stage, and, in a sophomoric style, to begin with a flourish:--

 "'Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that lowered upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. '

"'Now, ' said he, 'this is all wrong. Richard, you remember, had been, and was then plotting the destruction of his brothers, to make roomfor himself. Outwardly, the most loyal to the newly crowned king, secretly he could scarcely contain his impatience at the obstaclesstill in the way of his own elevation. He appears upon the stage, justafter the crowning of Edward, burning with repressed hate andjealousy. The prologue is the utterance of the most intense bitternessand satire. ' Then, unconsciously assuming the character, Mr. Lincolnrepeated, also from memory, Richard's soliloquy, rendering it with adegree of force and power that made it seem like a new creation to me. Though familiar with the passage from boyhood, I can truly say thatnever till that moment had I fully appreciated its spirit. I could notrefrain from laying down my palette and brushes, and applaudingheartily upon his conclusion, saying, at the same time, half inearnest, that I was not sure but that he had made a mistake in thechoice of a profession, considerably, as may be imagined, to hisamusement. Mr. Sinclair has since repeatedly said to me that he neverheard these choice passages of Shakspeare rendered with more effect bythe most famous of modern actors. "

Lincoln's sense of the classic phrase seems to have been native withhim, for we find it in his earliest utterances. Such a phrase appearsin homely proverbial form in his first speech: "My politics are shortand sweet, like the old woman's dance. " Impaired in rhythm of thoughtand sound by an awkward, though logical, parenthetical expression, another phrase stands out in a "spread-eagle" passage from his firstformal address, that on "The Perpetuation of Our PoliticalInstitutions. "

"All the armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined, with all thetreasure of earth (our own excepted) in its military chest, with aBonaparte for a commander, could not by force _take a drink from theOhio or make a track on the Blue Ridge_ in a trial of a thousandyears. "

And in a eulogy on Washington, Lincoln early achieved a line which inphonetic quality, rhetorical figure and rhythmic cadence is purepoetry, though not of an exceptional order. 

"In solemn awe we pronounce the name, and in its naked deathlesssplendor leave it shining on. "

In an article entitled "Lincoln's Literary Experiments, " by John G. Nicolay, one of Lincoln's two private secretaries, which was publishedin the Century Magazine for April, 1894, are reproduced Lincoln'snotes of one lyceum lecture on "Niagara Falls, " and the text ofanother on "Discoveries, Inventions and Improvements. " These, however, detract, if anything, from Lincoln's reputation as a writer, for inchoice of subjects and in style of treatment there is seen an almostdiscreditable stooping of a man of genius, even in his function ofteacher, to the low popular taste of the West at the time. In thefirst lecture Lincoln presented the statistics of the water power ofNiagara Falls for each minute, and led his hearers from this base tothe "contemplation of the vast power the sun is constantly exerting inthe quiet noiseless operation of lifting water up to be rained downagain. " Yet at this point he stopped short of his duty as an educator, for he made no suggestion as to the utilization of this power. He wassatisfied with giving the people what they had come for--the pleasantexcitation of a mental faculty, that of the imagination in its primaryform of wonder at the grandeur of the material universe. In short, hewas acting as a mere entertainer--as so many of our public men do nowat "Chautauquas. "

In the second lecture he performed this function in a still morediscreditable manner, by catering to the unworthy demand of hishearers for obvious and familiar humorous conceptions to grasp whichwould cause them no mental exertion. Thus, in speaking of theinventions of the locomotive and telegraph, already old enough for thefirst inevitable similitudes and jocose remarks about them to becurrent, he said:

"The iron horse is panting and impatient to carry him (man) everywherein no time; and the lightning stands ready harnessed to take and bringhis tidings in a trifle less than no time. "

This reveals Lincoln's taste for the characteristic American humor ofexaggeration, which was later to afford him relief from the stress andstrain of his duties as President in the works of "Petroleum V. Nasby"and "Artemus Ward, " writers, however, with a quaint originality whichlifted them and their admirers above the plane of humorous compositionand appreciation of the preceding decade. Indeed, Lincoln developedhis own power of witty expression to a degree excelling that of thewriters he admired, and in quality of product, if not in quantity (forthe greater part of the "funny stories" attributed to him, thankheaven, are apocryphal) he stands in the front rank of the Americanhumorists of his generation. 

And as the poet and the wit are near akin through this common appealto the imagination, Lincoln, had he overcome the obsession ofmelancholy in his nature which was the mood in which he resorted topoetry, and which early limited his taste for it to verse of a sad andreflective kind, might have become a literary craftsman of the orderof Holmes, whose poetry in the main was bright and joyous, and, evenwhen he occasionally touched upon such subjects as death, was, as wehave seen, informed with inspiring Hellenic beauty rather thandepressing Hebraic moralization. It was in his sad moments, says HenryC. Whitney, that the mind of Lincoln "gravitated toward the weird, sombre and mystical. In his normal and tranquil state of mind, 'TheLast Leaf, ' by Oliver Wendell Holmes, was his favorite" (poem). It wasLincoln's happy lot to rise in the realm of oratory by the power ofhis poetic spirit higher than any American, save probably Emerson, hasdone in other fields of literature. On the theme of slavery, where hisunerring moral sense had free sway, he became our supreme orator, transcending even Webster in grandeur of thought and beauty of itsexpression. His periods are not as sonorous as the Olympian NewEngland orator's, but their accents will reach as far and resound evenlonger by the carrying and sustaining power of the ideas which theyexpress. Indeed, it is on the wings supplied by Lincoln that Webster'smost significant conception, that of the nature of the Constitution, is even now borne along, because of the uplifting ideality whichLincoln gave it by more broadly applying it to the nation itself as anexamplar and preserver to the world of ideal government. 

Webster said: "It is, sir, the people's Constitution, the people'sGovernment; made for the people; made by the people; and answerable tothe people. "

This he made the thesis for an argument which was to be followed by amagnificent peroration ending with a sentiment, calculated for use asa toast at political banquets, and as a patriotic slogan: "Liberty andUnion, now and forever, one and inseparable!"

Lincoln with purer taste, the expression of which, be it said toWebster's credit, had been made possible by the acceptance of theearlier statesman's contention, assumed the thesis as placed beyondall controversy, and, making it the exhortation of his speech, gaveto it the character of a sacred adjuration: "That we here highlyresolve . .. That government of the people, by the people, and forthe people, shall not perish from the earth. "

Another example of Lincoln's ability to improve the composition ofanother writer is the closing paragraph of his first inauguraladdress. The President-elect had submitted the manuscript of this mostimportant speech, which would be universally scrutinized to find whatpolicy he would adopt toward the seceded States, to Seward, his chosenSecretary of State, for criticism and suggestion. Mr. Seward approvedthe argument, but advised the addition of a closing paragraph "to meetand remove prejudice and passion in the South; and despondency in theEast. " He submitted two paragraphs of his own as alternative models. The second was in that poetic vein which occasionally cropped out inSeward's speeches, and over which Lincoln on better acquaintance waswont good-naturedly to rally him. It is evidence of Lincoln'spredilection for poetic language, at least at the close of a speech, that he adopted the latter paragraph. It ran:

"I close. We are not, we must not be, aliens or enemies, butfellow-countrymen and brethren. Although passion has strained ourbonds of affection too hardly, they must not, I am sure they will not, be broken. The mystic chords which, proceeding from so manybattlefields and so many patriot graves, pass through all the heartsand all hearths in this broad continent of ours, will yet againharmonize in their ancient music when breathed upon by the guardianangel of the nation. "

Lincoln, by deft touches which reveal a literary taste beyond that ofany statesman of his time, indeed beyond that which he himself had yetexhibited, transformed this passage into his peroration. Hisemendations were largely in the way of excision of unnecessaryphrases, resolution of sentences broken in construction into severalshorter, more direct ones, and change of general and vague terms inrhetorical figure to concrete and picturesque words. He wrote:

"I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not beenemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bondsof affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from everybattle-field and patriot grave to every living heart and hearth-stoneall over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union whenagain touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of ournature. "

More than the persuasive argument and gentle yet determined spirit ofthe address, it was the chaste beauty and tender feeling of theseclosing words which convinced the people that Lincoln measured up tothe high mental and moral stature demanded of one who was to be theirleader through the most critical period that had arisen in the life ofthe nation. 

The second inaugural address, coming so shortly before the President'sdeath, formed unintentionally his farewell address. It has the spiritand tone of prophecy. The Bible, in thought and expression, was itsinspiration. The first two of its three paragraphs ring like a chapterfrom Isaiah, chief of the poet seers of old. The concluding paragraphis an apostolic benediction such as Paul or John might have delivered. 

"With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in theright as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish thework we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him whoshall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphan--to doall which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace amongourselves, and with all nations. "

 * * * * *

 THE POETS' LINCOLN

 * * * * *

 [Illustration: THE LOG CABIN

 Birthplace of Lincoln, near Hodgensville, Kentucky]

Abraham Lincoln was born on the 12th day of February, 1809, on the BigSouth Fork of Nolin Creek, in what was then known as Hardin, but isnow known as La Rue County, Kentucky, about three miles fromHodgensville. 

The above illustration represents the cabin in which he was born, asdescribed by his former neighbors. 

Out of that old hut came the mighty man of destiny, the matchless manof the Nineteenth Century. The world has no parallel for thattransition from the cabin to the White House. 

Julia Ward [Howe] was born in New York City, May 27, 1819. At an earlyage she wrote plays and poems. In 1843 Miss Ward married Dr. SamuelGridley Howe. In 1861, while on a visit to the camp near Washington, with Governor John A. Andrew and other friends, Mrs. Howe wrote to theair of "John Brown's Body" the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" which hasbecome so popular. She also published several books of poems. Sheespoused the Woman-Suffrage movement in 1869, and devoted much of hertime to the cause. She died in 1910. 

This poem was written by Mrs. Howe in her ninetieth year and read byher in Symphony Hall, Boston, on the centenary of the martyredPresident's birthday, February 12, 1909. 

 LINCOLN

 Through the dim pageant of the years A wondrous tracery appears: A cabin of the western wild Shelters in sleep a new born child. 

 Nor nurse nor parent dear can know The way those infant feet must go, And yet a nation's help and hope Are sealed within that horoscope. 

 Beyond is toil for daily bread, And thought to noble issues led. And courage, arming for the morn For whose behest this man was born. 

 A man of homely, rustic ways, Yet he achieves the forum's praise And soon earth's highest meed has won, The seat and sway of Washington. 

 No throne of honors and delights, Distrustful days and sleepless nights, To struggle, suffer and aspire, Like Israel, led by cloud and fire. 

 A treacherous shot, a sob of rest, A martyr's palm upon his breast, A welcome from the glorious seat Where blameless souls of heroes meet. 

 And thrilling, through unmeasured days, A song of gratitude and praise, A cry that all the earth shall heed, To God, who gave him for our need. 

 THE GREAT OAK

 Some men are born, while others seem to grow From out the soil, like towering trees that spread Their strong, broad limbs in shelter overhead When tempest storms, protecting all below. 

 Lincoln, Great Oak of a Nation's life, Rose from the soil, with all its virgin power Emplanted in him for the fateful hour, When he might save a Nation in its strife. 

 --_Bennett Chapple. _

 [Illustration: LINCOLN BY THE CABIN FIRE

 "Lying down was Lincoln's favorite attitude while reading or studying. This remained a habit with him throughout life. "--_Henry C. Whitney in his "Life Of Lincoln. "_]

Noah Davis, born in Haverhill, New Hampshire, September 10, 1818. Hewas educated at Albion, New York, and in the Seminary at Lima, studiedlaw, and was admitted to the bar in 1841. Appointed in March, 1857, ajustice of the New York Supreme Court. He served in Congress fromMarch 4, 1869, till July 20, 1870, when he resigned, having beenappointed by President Grant, U. S. Attorney for the Southern Districtof New York. He resigned that office on Dec. 31, 1872, being electedjustice of the New York State Supreme Court. In 1874, he becamepresiding justice. In January, 1887, he was retired from the bench andresumed practice. He died in New York in 1902. 

 LINCOLN

 Almost a hundred years ago, in a lonely hut, Of the dark and bloody ground of wild Kentucky, A child was born to poverty and toil, Save in the sweet prophecy of mother's love None dreamed of future fame for him!

 'Mid deep privation and in rugged toil, He grew unschooled to vigorous youth, His teaching was an ancient spelling book, The Holy Writ, "The Pilgrim's Progress, " Old "Æsop's Fables" and the "Life of Washington"; And out of these, stretched by the hearthstone flame For lack of other light, he garnered lore That filled his soul with faith in God. 

 The prophet's fire, the psalmist's music deep, The pilgrims' zeal throughout his steadfast march, The love of fellow man as taught by Christ, And all the patriot faith and truth Marked the Father of our Land! And there, in all his after life, in thought And speech and act, resonant concords were in his great soul. 

 And, God's elect, he calmly rose to awful power, Restored his mighty land to smiling peace, Then, with the martyr blood of his own life, Baptized the millions of the free. 

 Henceforth, the ages hold his name high writ And deep on their eternal rolls. 

Rev. George W. Crofts was born at Leroy, Illinois, April 9, 1842. He waseducated at the Illinois State University at Springfield, graduating inthe class of 1864. He was ordained to the ministry in 1865. He preachedat Sandwich, Illinois; Council Bluffs, Iowa; Beatrice, Nebraska, andWest Point. He died at West Point, May 16, 1909. 

 THE BIRTH OF LINCOLN

 No choir celestial sang at Lincoln's birth, No transient star illumined the midnight sky In honor of some ancient prophecy, No augury was given from heaven or earth. 

 He blossomed like a flower of wondrous worth, A rare, sweet flower of heaven that ne'er should die, Altho' the vase in which it grew should lie Most rudely rent amid the darkling dearth. 

 There, in that humble cabin, separate From everything the world regarded great, Where wealth had never pressed its greedy feet, Where honor, pomp or fame found no retreat; E'en there was born beneath the eye of God The noblest man His footstool ever trod. 

 [Illustration: Mendelssohn Darwin Lincoln]

 MENDELSSOHN DARWIN LINCOLN

 _February 12, 1809_

Clarence E. Carr, born in Enfield, New Hampshire, January 31, 1853. Received his early education from the common schools and academies ofthe State, later from Dartmouth College, from which he graduated in1875. 

Practiced law, was also a manufacturer and farmer. Was president ofthe New Hampshire Unitarian Conference, director and vice-president ofthe American Unitarian Association, bank trustee, president of theUnited Life and Accident Insurance Company of Concord, New Hampshire, and occasionally a wanderer in the Elysian Fields of the Muses. 

_The Three Birthday Anniversaries_ is the subject of a highlyappreciative article on the subject of Mendelssohn, Darwin and Lincoln, by President Samuel A. Eliot of the American Unitarian Association, inthe _Christian Register_ of February 4, 1909. The central thoughttherein is thus expressed very beautifully by Mr. Carr. 

 Three lives this day unto the world were given Into whose souls God breathed the air of heaven, -- The first He taught the music of the spheres, The next, of worlds, the story of the years; And, loving, wise, and just beyond our dream, The third a pilot made upon the New World's stream. 

 Their work is done, but ere they crossed "the portal, " One, Song; One, Truth; One, Freedom; Made Immortal!

James Phinney Baxter, born at Gorham Maine, March 23, 1831. Academiceducation; President of Savings Bank; Mayor of Portland, six terms, 1893-97--1904-5. Organized Associated Charities and was its firstPresident; built and donated to the City of Portland its publiclibrary in 1888, and to Gorham in 1907; also conveyed to Gorham hisfamily mansion for use as a Museum. President Portland Public Library, Baxter Library (Gorham), Portland Benevolent Society, Overseer ofBowdoin College, President Maine Historical Society since 1890, Northeast Historical Society since 1899. Author: _The TrelawneyPapers_, 1884; _The British Invasion From the North_, 1887; _SirFerdinando Gorges and His Province of Maine_, 1890; _The Pioneers ofNew France in New England_, 1894; edited ten volumes of _DocumentaryHistory of Maine_, etc. 

 THE NATAL DAY OF LINCOLN

 Son of the Western World! whose heritage Was the vast prairie and the boundless sky; Whose callow thoughts with wings untrammeled sought Free scope for growth denied to Ease and Power, Naught couldst thou know of place or precedent, For Freedom's ichor with thy mother's milk Coursing thy veins, would render thee immune To Fashion's dictate, or prescriptive creed, Leaving thy soul unhindered to expand Like Samuel's in Jehovah's tutelage. Hail to thy Natal day!

 Like all great souls with vision unobscured Thou wert by Pride unswayed, and so didst tread The gray and sombre way by Duty marked; Seeking the springs of Wisdom, unallured By shallower sources which the witless tempt. Afar o'er arid plains didst thou behold An empty sky, and mountains desolate Barring thy way to fairer scenes beyond; But faith was thine, and patience measureless, Making thee equal to thy destiny. Hail to thy Natal day!

 It summons to our vision all thy life, Of strenuous toil; the cabin low and rude; The meagre fare; the blazing logs whose glow Illumed the pages of inspired bards, Shakespeare and Bunyan; prophets, priests and seers; The darkling forest where thy ringing axe Chimed with the music of the waterfall; The eager flood bearing thy rugged raft Swift footed through an ever changing world Unknown to thee save in remembered dreams. Hail to thy Natal day!

 We see thee in the mart where Selfishness For Fame ephemeral strives, and sordid gain; Thy ill-requited toil till thou hadst earned The right to raise thy potent voice within A nation's forum, facing all the world; And then, achievement such as few have known, A mighty people placing in thy hand A sceptre swaying half a continent, Making thee peer of kings and potentates; Aye, greater than them all, whate'er their power. Hail to thy Natal day!

 But, lo! the martial camp; the bivouac; The rude entrenchment;--the grim fortalice; The tented field;--the flaming battle line, And thy great soul amidst it all unmoved By petty aims, leading with flawless faith Thy people to a promised land of peace; And, then, when thou hadst reached the goal of hope, And the world stood amazed, the heavy crown Of martyrdom was pressed upon thy brow And thy immortal course was consummate. Hail to thy Natal day!

 In all great souls God sows with generous hand The seed of martyrdom, for 'twas decreed In Eden, that alone by sacrifice Should sons of men the crown immortal win; And thou, who didst the shining heights attain Of unsurpassed achievement, didst but pay The impartial toll of souls like thine required. And we, who on the narrow marge of Time Standing wondering, shed no tears, but raise to thee The pæans to a martyred hero due, Hail to thy Natal day. 

 [Illustration: MONUMENT TO THE MOTHER OF LINCOLN]

Nancy Hanks Lincoln died October 5, 1818, aged thirty-five years. Thedesign of this monument is by Thompson Stickle, and it was constructedby J. S. Culver of Springfield, Illinois, and dedicated October 2, 1902. 

In the construction of the monument in Spencer County, Indiana, Mr. Culver used as much of the granite as possible from the NationalLincoln Monument before it was reconstructed. 

The face of this block is handsomely hand-carved. As the Scroll ofTime unrolls, it reveals the name of "Nancy Hanks Lincoln. " The ivyrepresents affection and the branch of oak nobility. 

The public celebration of the centenary of Lincoln's birth was held inthe town of North Adams, Massachusetts, February 12, 1909. 

Ex-Senator Thomas F. Cassidy, in his address, said: "One hundred yearsago today, in Hardin County, Kentucky, there was ushered into beingthe child, Abraham Lincoln. 

"As God selected Mary, the humble girl of Judea, to be the mother ofthe Saviour of mankind and she gave birth to Him in the stable atBethlehem, so it was ordained that in the lowly log cabin of theKentucky wilderness, Nancy Hanks should receive into the protection ofher sheltering arms the child who was destined to be the Saviour ofthe Republic. "

Harriet Monroe, born at Chicago, Illinois, December, 23, 1860. Graduated Visitation Academy, Georgetown, District Columbia, 1879. InDecember, 1889, was appointed to write text for cantata for opening ofChicago Auditorium in March, 1891. Was requested by Committee onCeremonies of Chicago Exposition to write a poem for the dedication;her _Columbia Ode_ was read and sung at the dedicatory ceremonies onthe 400th anniversary of the discovery of America, October 21, 1892. Author of _Valerie_, and other poems, 1892; _The Columbia Ode_, 1893;_John Wellborn, Poet, A Memoir_, 1896; _The Passing Show--Modern Playsin Verse_, 1903, etc. 

 NANCY HANKS

 Prairie Child, Brief as dew, What winds of wonder Nourished you?

 Rolling plain Of billowy green, Fair horizons, Blue, serene. 

 Lofty skies The slow clouds climb, Where burning stars Beat out the time. 

 These, and the dreams Of fathers bold, Baffled longings Hopes untold. 

 Gave to you A heart of fire, Love like waters, Brave desire. 

 Ah, when youth's rapture Went out in pain, And all seemed over, Was all in vain?

 O soul obscure, Whose wings life bound, And soft death folded Under the ground. 

 Wilding lady, Still and true, Who gave us Lincoln And never knew:

 To you at last Our praise, our tears, Love and a song Through the nation's years. 

 Mother of Lincoln, Our tears, our praise; A battle-flag And the victor's bays!

 [Illustration: THE RAIL SPLITTER

 From the "Footprints of Abraham Lincoln"]

 LINCOLN THE LABORER

 _From an Horatian Ode by Richard Henry Stoddard_

 A laboring man with horny hands, Who swung the axe, who tilled the lands, Who shrank from nothing new, But did as poor men do. 

 One of the people. Born to be Their curious epitome, To share, yet rise above, Their shifting hate and love. 

 Common his mind, it seemed so then, His thoughts the thoughts of other men, Plain were his words, and poor-- But now they will endure. 

 No hasty fool of stubborn will, But prudent, cautious, still-- Who, since his work was good, Would do it as he could. 

 No hero, this, of Roman mold-- Nor like our stately sires of old. Perhaps he was not great-- But he preserved the state. 

 O, honest face, which all men knew, O, tender heart, but known to few-- O, wonder of the age, Cut off by tragic rage. 

 [Illustration: "THE BOY LINCOLN"

 By Eastman Johnson]

James Whitcomb Riley was born in Greenfield, Indiana, about 1852. Hewas engaged in various pursuits until 1875, when he began tocontribute verses of poetry to local papers in the Western districtwhich gained wide popularity for him. His published works in dialectand his serious poems have also proved very popular. 

 A PEACEFUL LIFE

 (LINCOLN)

 A peaceful life;--just toil and rest-- All his desire;-- To read the books he liked the best Beside the cabin fire. God's word and man's;--to peer sometimes Above the page, in smoldering gleams, And catch, like far heroic rhymes, The onmarch of his dreams. 

 A peaceful life;--to hear the low Of pastured herds, Or woodman's axe that, blow on blow, Fell sweet as rhythmic words. And yet there stirred within his breast A faithful pulse, that, like a roll Of drums, made high above his rest A tumult in his soul. 

 A peaceful life!--They hailed him even As One was hailed Whose open palms were nailed toward Heaven When prayers nor aught availed. And lo, he paid the selfsame price To lull a nation's awful strife And will us, through the sacrifice Of self, his peaceful life. 

William Wilberforce Newton, born in Alleghany, Pennsylvania, March, 1836. Was graduated at Franklin and Marshall College in 1853. Studiedlaw, and was admitted to the bar in 1867. He served as Captain andAssistant Adjutant General of U. S. Volunteers in 1861-5; was Editorof the _Philadelphia Press_ and President of the "Press" PublishingCo. , from 1867 till 1878. He is the author of _Vignettes of Travel_and has been largely engaged in railway building in Mexico. 

 LEADER OF HIS PEOPLE

 Saw you in his boyhood days O'er Kentucky's prairies; Bending to the settler's ways Yon poor youth whom now we praise-- Romance like the fairies? Hero! Hero! Sent from God! Leader of his people. 

 Saw you in the days of youth By the candle's flaring: Lincoln searching for the truth, Splitting rails to gain, forsooth, Knowledge for the daring? Hero! Hero! Sent from God! Leader of his people. 

 Saw you in his manhood's prime Like a star resplendent, Him we praise with measured rhyme Waiting for the coming time With a faith transcendent? Hero! Hero! Sent from God! Leader of his people. 

 Saw you in the hour of strife When fierce war was raging, Him who gave the slaves a life Full and rich with freedom rife, All his powers engaging? Hero! Hero! Sent from God! Leader of his people. 

 Saw you when the war was done (Such is Lincoln's story) Him whose strength the strife had won Sinking like the setting sun Crowned with human glory? Hero! Hero! Sent from God! Leader of his people. 

 Saw you in our country's roll Midst her saints and sages, Lincoln's name upon the scroll-- Standing at the topmost goal On the nation's pages? Hero! Hero! Sent from God! Leader of his people. 

 Hero! Yes! We know thy fame; It will live forever! Thou to us art still the same; Great the glory of thy name, Great thy strong endeavor! Hero! Hero! Sent from God! Leader of his people. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN THE LAWYER

 From an Ambrotype, taken in 1856]

"The charm which invested the life on the Eighth Circuit in the mindand fancy of Mr. Lincoln yet lingered there, even in the mostresponsible and glorious days of his administration; over and overagain has the great President stolen an hour . .. From his life ofanxious care to live over again those bygone exhilarating and halcyondays . .. With Sweet or me. "--Henry C. Whitney in his _Life of Lincoln_. 

Wilbur Hazelton Smith was born in the town of Mansfield, New York, March 28, 1860. His early education was obtained from the districtschool and he began teaching at the age of sixteen. After completingan academic course he went to Cornell University from which he wasgraduated with the degree of A. B. In 1885. 

He at once became a teacher and after a few years started the firstCurrent Topic paper in the state, _The Educator_. Later he edited ateachers' paper, _The World's Review_. Perhaps he is best known aspublisher of the _Regents' Review Books_ used in nearly every schoolin the United States. His death occurred October 19, 1913. 

 LINCOLN

 Unlearned in the cant and quip of schools, Uncouth, if only city ways refine; Ungodly, if 'tis creeds that make divine; In station poor, as judged by human rules, And yet a giant towering o'er them all; Clean, strong in mind, just, merciful, sublime; The noblest product of the age and time, Invoked of God in answer to men's call. 

 O simple world, and will you ever learn, Schools can but guide, they cannot mind create? 'Neath roughest rock the choicest treasures wait; In meanest forms we priceless gems discern; Nor time, nor age, condition, rank nor birth, Can hide the truly noble of the earth. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN'S OFFICE CHAIR]

This chair was used by Mr. Lincoln in his law office at Springfield, Illinois, where, before leaving for the City of Washington after hiselection as President, he wrote his Inaugural Address and formed hisCabinet, frequently conferring with his twenty-year law partner, William H. Herndon, on such matters, and adopting changes as suggestedif he considered them advisable. It was presented to O. H. Oldroydwhile living in the Lincoln Homestead, Springfield, by Mr. Herndon, March 18, 1886. 

James Riley was born in the hamlet of Tang, one mile from the town ofBallymahon, County Longford, Ireland, and two miles from Lissoy, County Westmeath, the home of Oliver Goldsmith--on the road betweenthe two--August 15, 1848. Published _Poems_, 1888; _Songs of TwoPeoples_, 1898, and _Christy of Rathglin_, a novel, in 1907. His poem_The American Flag_, has been rated often as the best poem written toour banner. Four lines on the loss of the Titanic brought from CaptainRostron words in which he said: "With such praise one feels on ahigher plane, and must keep so, to be worthy of continuance. "

 LINCOLN IN HIS OFFICE CHAIR

 High-browed, rugged, and swarthy; A picture of pain and care; A lawyer sat with his greatest brief, High in his office chair. 

 His Country was to him client! Futurity his ward! And he must plead 'fore Fate's high court, With prayer, and pen, and sword. 

 Elected, by his people! His heart and theirs, one beat! He sees the storm-clouds gather; The waves dash at his feet!

 Gloom upon land and water! The Flag no more in the sun! Lights from the South-line flickering, And--dying--one--by one!

 November's winds wild shrieking! Night--closed, on a Union rent! And still the lawyer sat dreaming Of its once bright firmament. 

 Then, '61! Dark! Silent! Only the calling word Of Anderson at Sumter The lawyer, writing, heard. 

 Writing the Message that ever Shall live in the hearts of men; With cannon to cannon fronting, The lawyer held the pen. 

 Only thinking of Country And the work that must be done; Nature made in roughest mold Her favored, fated son. 

 He wrote while the world was waiting Great Freedom's final test. Should, or should not Democracy Be planted in the West?

 Should Liberty at last survive And man look straight on man? Law, in its round, its strength and might Be timed unto sense and plan?

 He, in his chair there sitting, Had all these things for thought. Now, the Vote unrecognized, Must battles wild be fought?

 Alone the Chair is standing, To remind the Land of the time When the Slaver's heart, all passion, He planned, and pursued his crime!

 As he rushed Disunion's order, On, on from State to State! And the Pen talked loud down the Message, And bided the Land to wait. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN AS CANDIDATE FOR UNITED STATES SENATOR

 Photograph from an Ambrotype, by Gilmer, Illinois, 1858]

Elizabeth Porter Gould, born June 8, 1848, died July 28, 1906. Essayist, lecturer and author; an early inspirer of woman's clubs andthe pioneer of the _Current Events_ and _Topics_ classes in Boston andvicinity; an officer in several educational societies and honorarymember of the Webster Historical Society, Castilian Club and otherclubs where she had read many historical papers of great research andgiven many practical suggestions. Among her published works are _GemsFrom Walt Whitman_, _Anne Gilchrist and Walt Whitman_, _EzekialCheever, Schoolmaster_, _John Adams and Daniel Webster asSchoolmasters_, _A Pioneer Doctor_, _One's Self I Sing_ and _TheBrownings and America_. She had great energy and force of character, and a capacity for friendship which was a source of great happiness toher and endeared her to all. 

 THE VOICE OF LINCOLN

 In life's great symphony, Above the seeming discord and the pain, A master-voice is ever singing, singing, The plan of God to men. 

 In young America's song, As threatening tumult pierced the tensioned air, The voice of Lincoln over all was singing The love of brother-man. 

 And still his voice is heard; 'Twill pierce the din of strife and mystery, Till master-voices cease their singing, singing, In life's great symphony. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN AT THE TIME OF DEBATE WITH DOUGLAS

 From an Ambrotype taken at Beardstown, Ill. , 1858]

His friends advised Lincoln to press his opponent on the Dred Scottdecision (of the United States Supreme Court permitting slavery in theTerritories), as Douglas would accept it, but argue for nullifying itby anti-slavery legislation in the territorial assemblies, and thiswould satisfy the people of Illinois, and elect him Senator. "Allright, " said Lincoln, "then that kills him in 1860. I am gunning forlarger game. "

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps was born in Andover, Massachusetts, on August13, 1844. Educated at Andover. Her literary career began at the age ofthirteen with contributions to the newspapers. The earlier years ofher life were devoted to Christian labors among the poor families inAndover, but failing health finally prevented her from carrying on herlabors along that line, and kept her within her study, but hersympathy was always enlisted in the reformatory questions of the day. _The Gates Ajar_ proved very popular, as did also her many juvenilebooks. She wrote this poem for the Lincoln Memorial Album in 1882. Shedied January 29, 1911. 

 THE THOUGHTS OF LINCOLN

 The angels of your thoughts are climbing still The shining ladder of his fame, And have not reached the top, nor ever will, While this low life pronounces his high name. 

 But yonder, where they dream, or dare, or do, The "good" or "great" beyond our reach, To talk of him must make old language new In heavenly, as it did in human, speech. 

 [Illustration: THE LINCOLN LIFE-MASK

 By Leonard W. Volk]

Mr. Lincoln was engaged in trying a case in the United States Court atChicago, Illinois, in April, 1860, and Leonard W. Volk, the sculptor, called upon him and said: "I would like to have you sit to me for yourbust. " "I will, Mr. Volk, " replied Lincoln. This was the first timethat Lincoln sat to an artist for the reproduction of his physique inthis manner. Previous to this he had posed only for daguerreotypes orfor photographs. 

Richard Watson Gilder was born in Bordentown, New Jersey, February 8, 1844, and was educated at his father's school. He enlisted in Landis'Philadelphia Battery for the emergency call in the campaign of 1863, when the Confederate forces invaded Pennsylvania. Later he was editorof a number of magazines and upon the death of J. G. Holland he wasmade associate editor of the _Century_. At the age of twenty-six hehad attained high literary standing. His poems are published in fivevolumes. He rendered valuable service in tenement-house reform overthe country. He died on the 18th day of November, 1909. 

 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. 

 [Illustration: THE HAND OF LINCOLN]

The Saturday after the nomination of Mr. Lincoln for President of theUnited States, the Committee appointed to inform him of the saidnomination arrived in Springfield and performed this duty in theevening at his home. 

The cast of his hand was made the next morning by Mr. Leonard W. Volk. While the sculptor was making the cast of his left hand, Lincolncalled his attention to a scar on his thumb. "You have heard me calledthe 'rail-splitter' haven't you?" he said, "Well, I used to splitrails when I was a young man, and one day, while sharpening a wedge ona log, the axe glanced and nearly took off my thumb. "

Edmund Clarence Stedman was born in Hartford, Connecticut, on the 8thof October, 1833. He entered Yale College at the age of sixteen anddistinguished himself in Greek and English Composition. He was theeditor of several papers in Connecticut and in 1856 removed to NewYork City--a larger field for his literary abilities. He was acontributor to _Vanity Fair_, _Putnam's Monthly_, _Harper's Magazine_and other periodicals. His poems: _The Diamond Wedding_, _How Old JohnBrown Took Harper's Ferry_, _The Ballad of Lager-Bier_, gave him somereputation. He was war-correspondent for the _World_ during the earlycampaigns of the Army of the Potomac from the Headquarters of GeneralIrwin McDowell and General B. McClellan. He died in 1908. 

 THE HAND OF LINCOLN

 Look on this cast, and know the hand That bore a nation in its hold; From this mute witness understand What Lincoln was--how large of mold. 

 The man who sped the woodman's team, And deepest sunk the plowman's share, And pushed the laden raft astream, Of fate before him unaware. 

 This was the hand that knew to swing The axe--since thus would Freedom train Her son--and made the forest ring, And drove the wedge and toiled amain. 

 Firm hand that loftier office took, A conscious leader's will obeyed, And, when men sought his word and look, With steadfast might the gathering swayed. 

 No courtier's, toying with a sword, Nor minstrel's, laid across a lute; Chiefs, uplifted to the Lord When all the kings of earth are mute!

 The hand of Anak, sinewed strong, The fingers that on greatness clutch, Yet lo! the marks their lines along Of one who strove and suffered much. 

 For here in mottled cord and vein I trace the varying chart of years, I know the troubled heart, the strain, The weight of Atlas--and the tears. 

 Again I see the patient brow That palm erewhile was wont to press; And now 'tis furrowed deep, and now Made smooth with hope and tenderness. 

 For something of a formless grace This molded outline plays about; A pitying flame, beyond our trace, Breathes like a spirit, in and out--

 The love that casts an aureole Round one who, longer to endure, Called mirth to cease his ceaseless dole, Yet kept his nobler purpose sure. 

 Lo, as I gaze, the statured man, Built up from yon large hand, appears; A type that nature wills to plan But once in all a people's years. 

 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?

 [Illustration: HON. ABRAHAM LINCOLN, REPUBLICAN CANDIDATE FOR THE PRESIDENCY, 1860

 Painted by Hicks; lithograph by L. Grozelier; published by W. Schaus, New York, 1860; printed by J. H. Bufford, Boston]

 [Illustration: THE "WIGWAM"

 Convention Hall, at Chicago, 1860, in which Lincoln was nominated]

The Republicans of Chicago had erected a huge temporary building forthe use of the Convention. The "Wigwam, " as it was called, covered aspace of 600 feet by 180, and the height was between 50 and 60 feet. The building would hold about 10, 000 persons, and was divided intoplatform, ground-floor and gallery. The stage upon which the delegatesand members of the press were seated, held about 1, 800 persons; theground-floor and galleries, about 8, 000. A large gallery was reservedfor ladies, which was filled every day to overflowing. The Conventionmet on June 16, 1860. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman is the author of this poem, and it waspublished in the _Press and Tribune_ of Chicago, and in _WeeklyIllinois State Journal_, June 13, 1860. It was sung to the air of the"Star Spangled Banner" throughout the campaign. 

 HONEST ABE OF THE WEST

 O Hark! from the pine-crested hills of old Maine, Where the splendor first falls from the wings of the morning, And away in the West, over river and plain, Rings out the grand anthem of Liberty's warning! From green-rolling prairie it swells to the sea, For the people have risen, victorious and free, They have chosen their leaders, and bravest and best Of them all is Old Abe, Honest Abe of the West!

 The spirit that fought for the patriots of old Has swept through the land and aroused us forever; In the pure air of heaven a standard unfold Fit to marshal us on to the sacred endeavor! Proudly the banner of freemen we bear; Noble the hopes that encircle it there! And where battle is thickest we follow the crest Of gallant Old Abe, Honest Abe of the West!

 There's a triumph in urging a glorious cause, Though the hosts of the foe for a while may be stronger, Pushing on for just rules and holier laws, Till their lessening columns oppose us no longer. But ours the loud pæan of men who have passed Through the struggles of years, and are victors at last; So forward the flag! Leave to Heaven the rest, And trust in Old Abe, Honest Abe of the West!

 [Illustration: LINCOLN AS CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT

 From an Ambrotype taken at Springfield, Illinois, August 13, 1860]

William Henry Burleigh, born at Woodstock, Connecticut, February 2, 1812. In early manhood became an advocate of reforms then unpopular, and an acceptable lecturer on behalf of temperance and theanti-slavery cause. He removed to Pittsburgh in 1837, where hepublished the _Christian Witness_, and afterwards the _TemperanceBanner_. As a writer, speaker, editor, poet, reformer, friend andassociate, it was the universal testimony of those who knew him bestand esteemed him most truly, that he stood in the forefront of hisgeneration. His poetry, animated by deep love of nature and a profounddesire to uphold truth and justice, gives him a place with our firstminor poets. 

 PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN, 1860

 Up again for the conflict! Our banner fling out, And rally around it with song and with shout! Stout of heart, firm of hand, should the gallant boys be, Who bear to the battle the Flag of the Free! Like our fathers, when Liberty called to the strife, They should pledge to her cause fortune, honor, and life! And follow wherever she beckons them on, Till Freedom results in a victory won!

 They came from the hillside, they came from the glen-- From the streets thronged with traffic and surging with men, From loom and from ledger, from workshop and farm, The fearless of heart, and the mighty of arm. As the mountain-born torrents exultingly leap When their ice-fetters melt, to the breast of the deep; As the winds of the prairie, the waves of the sea, They are coming--are coming--the Sons of the Free!

 Our Leader is one who, with conquerless will, Has climbed from the base to the brow of the hill; Undaunted in peril, unwavering in strife, He has fought a good fight in the Battle of Life, And we trust as one who--come woe or come weal, Is as firm as the rock and as true as the steel. Right loyal and brave, with no stain on his breast, Then, hurrah, boys, for honest "Old Abe of the West!"

 [Illustration: "HONEST ABE"

 A Campaign Cartoon of 1860]

Madison Cawein was born at Louisville, Kentucky, on the 23rd of March, 1865. Was educated in the city and country schools about Louisvilleand New Albany, Indiana. Graduated from the Male High School, Louisville, in 1886, and the following year published his firstvolume, called _Blooms of the Berry_. Since then he published somethirty-odd volumes of prose and poetry, both in the United States andEngland. He died in 1915. 

 LINCOLN, 1809--FEBRUARY 12, 1909

 _Read for the first time at the Lincoln centenary celebration, Temple Adath Israel, Louisville, Ky. _

 Yea, this is he, whose name is synonym Of all that's noble, though but lowly born; Who took command upon a stormy morn When few had hope. Although uncouth of limb, Homely of face and gaunt, but never grim, Beautiful he was with that which none may scorn-- With love of God and man and things forlorn, And freedom mighty as the soul in him. Large at the helm of state he leans and looms With the grave, kindly look of those who die Doing their duty. Stanch, unswervingly Onward he steers beneath portentous glooms, And overwhelming thunders of the sky, Till, safe in port, he sees a people free. 

 Safe from the storm; the harbor-lights of Peace Before his eyes; the burden of dark fears Cast from him like a cloak; and in his ears The heart-beat music of a great release; Captain and pilot, back upon the seas, Whose wrath he'd weathered, back he looks with tears, Seeing no shadow of the Death that nears, Stealthy and sure, with sudden agonies. So let him stand, brother to every man, Ready for toil or battle; he who held A Nation's destinies within his hand; Type of our greatness; first American, By whom the hearts of all men are compelled, And with whose name Freedom unites our land. 

 He needs no praise of us, who wrought so well, Who has the Master's praise; who at his post Stood to the last. Yet, now, from coast to coast, Let memory of him peal like some great bell, Of him as woodsman, workman, let it tell! Of him as lawyer, statesman, without boast! And for what qualities we love him most, And recollections that no time can quell. He needs no praise of us, yet let us praise, Albeit his simple soul we may offend, That liked not praise, being most diffident; Still let us praise him, praise him in such ways As his were, and in words that shall transcend Marble, and outlast any monument. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN AS CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT

 Photograph by Hesler, Chicago, Illinois, 1860]

Isaac Bassett Choate, born at South Otis Field, Maine, July 12, 1833. Bachelor of Arts, Bowdoin College, 1862. Author of _Wild Birds andFlowers_, 1895; _Wells of English_, 1892; _Obeyed the Camel Driver_, 1899; _Apollo's Guest_, 1907. 

By special invitation from the faculty of the Alumni Association ofsaid College he read the following poem at their annual banquet heldon the centenary of Lincoln's birth, 1909:

 THE MATCHLESS LINCOLN

 From out the ranks of common men he rose-- Himself of common elements, yet fine-- As in a wood of different species grows Above all other trees the lordly pine, Upon whose branches rest the winter snows, Upon whose head warm beams of summer shine; His was the heart to feel the people's woes And his the hand to hold the builder's line; Strong, patient, wise and great, Born ruler of the State. 

 Among a mountain group one sovereign peak Will tower aloft unto commanding height As if more distant view abroad to seek-- First one to hail, last one to speed the light; Those granite sides will snows of winter streak E'en in the summer with their purest white;-- Silent, serene, that summit yet will speak Of loftiest grandeur to the enraptured sight; So Lincoln's greatness shone Supreme, unmatched, alone. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN AS CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT

 Photograph, Springfield, Ill. , 1860]

Charlotte Becker was born and has always lived in Buffalo, New York. She was educated in private schools and in Europe, and has writtenpoems for _Harper's Magazine_, _The Metropolitan_, _The American_, _Life_, etc. , besides a number of songs which have been set to musicby Amy Woodfords-Finden, C. B. Hawley, Whitney Coombs and others. 

 LINCOLN

 Gaunt, rough-hewn face, that bore the furrowed signs Of days of conflict, nights of agony, And still could soften to the gentler lines Of one whose tenderness and truth went free Beyond the pale of any small confines To understand and help humanity. 

 Wise, steadfast mind, that grasped a people's need, Counting nor pain nor sacrifice too great To keep the noble purpose of his creed Strong against all buffeting of Fate, Though no least solace sprang of work or deed For him, since triumph came at last--too late. 

 Brave, weary heart, that beat uncomforted Beneath its heavy load of grief and care; That tears of blood for every battle shed, Yet called on mirth to help his comrades bear The waiting hours of anguish, and that sped With loyal haste each breath of balm to share. 

 Only his people's griefs were his; no part Had he within their joy; nor his the toll To know the love that made rebellion start, Spurred hosts unnumbered to a higher goal; That his great soul should cleanse a nation's heart, His martyred heart awake a nation's soul. 

 [Illustration: CABIN OF LINCOLN'S PARENTS

 on Goose-Nest Prairie, Illinois]

The last home of the parents of Lincoln. Built by his father, Thomas, in 1831, near Farmington, Coles Co. , Ill. The father died here in 1851and the step-mother, Sarah Bush Lincoln, in 1869. After Lincoln waselected President in 1860, and before leaving for Washington to beinaugurated, he visited his mother in this cabin for the last time. Ashe was leaving her, she made a prediction of his tragic death. Witharms about his neck, with tears streaming down her cheeks, shedeclared it was the last time she would ever see him alive, and itproved to be so. 

Lincoln once said, "I was told that I never would make a lawyer if Idid not understand what 'demonstrate' means. I left my situation inSpringfield, went to my father's house, and stayed there till I couldgive any proposition in the six books of Euclid at sight. I therefound out what demonstrate means. "

 [Illustration: LINCOLN HOMESTEAD, SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS]

On Monday, February 11, 1861, Mr. Lincoln and family in company with aparty left Springfield, Illinois, for Washington, D. C. A light rainmixed with snow was falling at the time which made the occasion asomewhat gloomy one. Mr. Lincoln appeared on the rear platform of thecar where he bade farewell to his neighbors in the following address:

"My friends, no one not in my position can appreciate the sadness Ifeel at this parting. To this people I owe all that I am. Here I havelived more than a quarter of a century. Here my children were born, and here one of them lies buried. 

"I know not how soon I shall see you again. A duty devolves upon mewhich is greater, perhaps, than that which has devolved upon any otherman since the days of Washington. He never would have succeeded exceptfor the aid of divine Providence, upon which he at all times relied. 

"I feel that I cannot succeed without the same divine aid whichsustained him; and on the same Almighty Being I place my reliance forsupport, and I hope you, my friends, will pray that I may receive thedivine assistance, without which I cannot succeed, but with whichsuccess is certain. Again, I bid you an affectionate farewell. "

Mr. Lincoln thought that there is a time to joke and pray; and if, ashis detractors affirm, he joked all the way to Washington, if he didnot pray also (as we believe he did, and fervently, too) he at leastdesired the prayers of others, as the circumstances recorded in thefollowing poem will show. It is from the pen of a lady ofPhiladelphia, Mrs. Anna Bache. 

 LINCOLN AT SPRINGFIELD, 1861

 "My friends, --elected by your choice, From the long-cherished home I go, Endeared by Heaven-permitted joys, Sacred by Heaven-permitted woe, I go, to take the helm of State, While loud the waves of faction roar, And by His aid, supremely great, Upon whose will all tempests wait, I hope to steer the bark to shore. Not since the days when Washington To battle led our patriots on, Have clouds so dark above us met, Have dangers dire so close beset. And _he_ had never saved the land By deeds in human wisdom planned, But that with Christian faith he sought Guidance and blessing, where he ought. Like him, I seek for aid divine, His faith, his hope, his trust, are mine. Pray for me, friends, that God may make My judgment clear, my duty plain; For if the Lord no wardship take, The watchmen mount the towers in vain. "

 He ceased; and many a manly breast Panted with strong emotion's swell, And many a lip the sob suppressed, And tears from manly eyelids fell. And hats came off, and heads were bowed, As Lincoln slowly moved away; And then, heart-spoken, from the crowd, In accents earnest, clear, and loud, Came one brief sentence, "We _will_ pray!"

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN AND HIS SECRETARIES, JOHN G. NICOLAY AND JOHN HAY

 Photographed at Springfield, Illinois, in 1861]

On the 22nd of February, 1861, Washington's birthday, on his journeyto Washington, to assume the Presidency, Mr. Lincoln raised a new flagover Independence Hall, then went inside and spoke as follows:--

"I am filled with deep emotion at finding myself standing in thisplace, where were collected together the wisdom, the patriotism, thedevotion to principle from which sprang the institutions under whichwe live. You have kindly suggested to me that in my hands is the taskof restoring peace to our distracted country. I can say in return, sirs, that all the political sentiments I entertain have been drawn, so far as I have been able to draw them, from the sentiments whichoriginated in and were given to the world from this hall. I have neverhad a feeling, politically, that did not spring from the sentimentsembodied in the Declaration of Independence. I have often ponderedover the dangers which were incurred by the men who assembled here andframed and adopted that Declaration. I have pondered over the toilsthat were endured by the officers and soldiers of the army whoachieved that independence. I have often inquired of myself what greatprinciple or idea it was that kept this Confederacy so long together. It was not the mere matter of separation of the colonies from themotherland, but that sentiment in the Declaration of Independencewhich gave liberty, not alone to the people of this country, but hopeto all the world, for all future time. It was that which gave promisethat in due time the weight would be lifted from the shoulders of allmen and that all should have an equal chance. This is the sentimentembodied in the Declaration of Independence. 

"Now, my friends, can this country be saved on that basis? If it can, I will consider myself one of the happiest men in the world if I canhelp to save it. But if this country cannot be saved without giving upthat principle, I was about to say I would rather be assassinated onthis spot than surrender it. "

Four years and two months later, April 22, 1865, his body lay, assassinated, on the very spot where he had made the above remarks, then being taken to Springfield, Illinois, for burial. 

 [Illustration: INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA]

Henry Wilson Clendenin, born at Schellsburg, Pennsylvania, August 1, 1837; educated in private schools and by tutors. Married Mary E. Moreyof Monmouth, Illinois, October 23, 1877; to them were born fivechildren, four of whom survive: George M. , manager _Illinois StateRegister_; Clarence R. , Deputy Internal Revenue Collector, Springfield, Illinois; Harry F. , proofreader, _Illinois StateRegister_, and Marie, Assistant Instructor Physical Education, StateNormal University, Normal, Illinois. He was a private of Company I, Twentieth Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry, in the Civil War. Begannewspaper work on _Burlington_ (Iowa) _Hawkeye_. Afterwards telegrapheditor _Peoria Transcript_, 1858; telegraph editor _BurlingtonGazette_, 1863, and editor and proprietor, _Keokuk DailyConstitution_, 1876-1881; since that year was editor and president ofthe _Illinois State Register_. Postmaster, Springfield 1886-90. MemberIllinois State Historical Society, The Jefferson Association, GrandArmy of the Republic and Sons of the American Revolution. Director ofLincoln Library at Springfield, Illinois, for ten years. Member of theFirst Congregational Church of that city. 

This sonnet was written by Mr. Clendenin, in Philadelphia, February22, 1861, after witnessing Lincoln hoist the flag over IndependenceHall. 

 LINCOLN CALLED TO THE PRESIDENCY

 Hark to the sound that speedeth o'er the land! Behold the sword in fratricidal hand! 'Tis duty calls thee, Lincoln, and thy trust Demands that all thy acts be wise and just. No idle task to thee has been assigned, But work that's worthy of a giant mind-- And on the issue hangs the nation's fame As a free people who deserve the name. So, walk thou in the way the fathers trod; Be true to freedom, country, and to God; Then truth will triumph, treason be undone, And thou be hailed the second Washington. The first, the Father of his country--thou, Its Saviour. Bind the laurel on thy brow. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1858

 From a photograph by S. M. Fassett of Chicago]

An act of Congress July 9, 1790, established the District of Columbiaas the National Capital, and provided that prior to the first Mondayof December, 1800, the Commissioners should have finished a suitablebuilding for the sessions of Congress. The site of the Capitol wasincluded in L'Enfant's plan for the city. The cornerstone was laidSeptember 18, 1793, with Masonic rites, George Washington officiating. The wings of the central building were completed in 1811, and werepartially burned by the British, in 1814. The entire central buildingwas finished in 1827. The cornerstone of the extension was laid byPresident Fillmore, July 4, 1851. The extensions were first occupiedby Congress 1857 and 1859. Up to that time the Senate Chamber was thepresent Supreme Court Room, and the Hall of Representatives was thepresent National Statuary Hall. The dome was finished during theadministration of President Lincoln. The total cost of the Capitolbuilding and grounds was about thirty million dollars. The remains ofPresident Lincoln were escorted from the White House to the Capitol atthree o'clock P. M. , on the 19th of April, 1865. The number in theprocession was estimated at forty thousand, and that many more werespectators along the route. The burial service was conducted by Dr. Gurley. The special train bearing the remains left at 8 A. M. , Friday, April 21, for Springfield, Illinois, stopping at Baltimore, Maryland;Harrisburg and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Albany and Buffalo, NewYork; Cleveland and Columbus, Ohio; Indianapolis, Indiana; Chicago, Illinois, reaching Springfield, Illinois, the 3d of May, and wasburied the following day. The body lay in state in all of the abovecities. 

 [Illustration: THE CAPITOL

 The Second Inauguration of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States, in front of the Capitol, Washington, March 4, 1865]

Edwin Markham, born at Oregon City, Oregon, April 23, 1852; settled inCalifornia in 1857, and worked there during his boyhood, principallyas a blacksmith. Worked his way through the San Jose Normal School andSanta Rosa College. Became a writer of stories and verse for papersand magazines, and principal and superintendent of California schools. Was the author of _The Man With the Hoe, and Other Poems_ (1899); _TheMan With the Hoe, with Notes by the Author_ (1900); _The End of theCentury_ (1899); _Lincoln, the Great Commoner_ (1900); _The MightyHundred Years; Lincoln and Other Poems_ (1901); _The Shoes ofHappiness_ (1915). His _Man With the Hoe_ was extensively republishedand gave him wide fame. 

 LINCOLN THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE

 When the Norn-Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour, Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, She bent the strenuous Heavens and came down To make a man to meet the mortal need. She took the tried clay of the common road-- Clay warm yet with the genial heat of Earth, Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy; Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff. It was a stuff to wear for centuries, A man that matched the mountains, and compelled The stars to look our way and honor us. 

 The color of the ground was in him, the red earth; The tang and odor of the primal things-- The rectitude and patience of the rocks; The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn; The courage of the bird that dares the sea; The justice of the rain that loves all leaves; The pity of snow that hides all scars; The loving-kindness of the wayside well; The tolerance and equity of light That gives as freely to the shrinking weed As to the great oak flaring to the wind-- To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn That shoulders out the sky. 

 And so he came. From prairie cabin up to Capitol, One fair ideal led our chieftain on. Forevermore he burned to do his deed With the fine stroke and gesture of a king. He built the rail pile as he built the State, Pouring his splendid strength through every blow, The conscience of him testing every stroke, To make his deed the measure of a man. 

 So came the Captain with the mighty heart; And when the step of earthquake shook the house, Wresting the rafters from their ancient hold, He held the ridge-pole up and spiked again The rafters of the Home. He held his place-- Held the long purpose like a growing tree-- Held on through blame and faltered not at praise, And when he fell, in whirlwind, he went down As when a kingly cedar, green with boughs, Goes down with a great shout upon the hills, And leaves a lonesome place against the sky. 

 [Illustration: THE WHITE HOUSE]

The corner-stone was laid by George Washington on the 13th of October, 1792. The mansion was first occupied by President John Adams in theyear 1800, also by every succeeding President. British troops burnedit in 1814, in President Madison's term. It was the first publicbuilding erected in Washington. It is constructed of Virginiafreestone, and is 170 feet in length, 80 feet in depth, and consistsof a rustic basement, two stories and an attic. 

John Vance Cheney, born Groveland, New York, December 29, 1848. Graduated Temple Hill Academy, Genesee, New York, at seventeen. Assistant principal there two years later. Practiced law, New York, 1875-6; librarian Free Public Library, San Francisco, 1887-94;Newberry Library, Chicago, 1894-1909; author, _The Old Doctor_, 1881;and a number of poems, 1887-1911. 

 LINCOLN

 The hour was on us; where the man? The fateful sands unfaltering ran, And up the way of tears He came into the years. 

 Our pastoral captain. Forth he came, As one that answers to his name; Nor dreamed how high his charge, His work how fair and large, To set the stones back in the wall Lest the divided house should fall, And peace from men depart, Hope and the childlike heart. 

 We looked on him; "'Tis he, " we said, "Come crownless and unheralded, The shepherd who will keep The flocks, will fold the sheep. "

 Unknightly, yes: yet 'twas the mien Presaging the immortal scene, Some battles of His wars Who sealeth up the stars. 

 Not he would take the past between His hands, wipe valor's tablets clean, Commanding greatness wait Till he stands at the gate;

 Not he would cramp to one small head The awful laurels of the dead, Time's mighty vintage cup, And drink all honor up. 

 No flutter of the banners bold Borne by the lusty sons of old, The haughty conquerors Set forward to their wars;

 Not his their blare, their pageantries, Their goal, their glory, was not his; Humbly he came to keep The flocks, to fold the sheep. 

 The need comes not without the man; The prescient hours unceasing ran, And up the way of tears He came into the years. 

 Our pastoral captain, skilled to crook The spear into the pruning hook, The simple, kindly man, Lincoln, American. 

 [Illustration: WHERE LINCOLN WORSHIPPED

 New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, Washington, D. C. ]

President Lincoln and family attended this church during hisAdministration. The pew that they occupied is still preserved in itsblack walnut trimmings, though the rest of the sanctuary has beenrefurnished. 

Lyman Whitney Allen, born at St. Louis, November 19, 1854. Bachelor ofArts, Washington University, St. Louis, 1878; later Master of Arts, Princeton Theological, 1878-80; Post-graduate studies at PrincetonUniversity; (D. D. , University of Wooster, 1897). Ordained PresbyterianMinister, 1882; stated supply Kimmswick, Missouri, 1881-3; DeSoto, Missouri, 1883-5; Pastor-elect Carondelet Church, St. Louis, Missouri, 1885-9; Pastor South Park Church, Newark, New Jersey, since 1889. Director Board of Home Missions, Presbyterian; Chaplain New JerseySociety D. A. R. ; Member Society American Authors; New Jersey SocietyS. A. R. Club, Princeton (New York). Has written many poems andarticles, including the New York _Herald's_ $1, 000 prize poem whichwas published in 1895. 

Rev. Dr. Lyman Whitney Allen of Newark, New Jersey, had for his guestChief Justice Wendell Phillips Stafford of the Supreme Court of theDistrict of Columbia. Judge Stafford addressed the Men's Club of Dr. Allen's church one evening, and next day, in company with his host, visited the Lincoln statue on the court-house plaza. On the train thatbore him back to Washington that day, Judge Stafford wrote the poem onthe Statue. (See page 236). 

A few weeks thereafter Dr. Allen visited his friend, the judge, inWashington, and they made a little pilgrimage to the New York AvenuePresbyterian church. In the Lincoln pew Dr. Allen sat and meditated, and on his way back he wrote the verses. 

"I had seen the Lincoln statue many times, " says Dr. Allen, "but, somehow, I could not get started on the poem I knew could be writtenaround it. " And Judge Stafford wrote to his friend in Newark: "I hadseen the Lincoln pew a score of times without poetic result, yet youcome on a one-day visit and carry away the inspiration needed. "

 LINCOLN'S CHURCH IN WASHINGTON

 Within the historic church both eye and soul Perceived it. 'Twas the pew where Lincoln sat-- The only Lincoln God hath given to men-- Olden among the modern seats of prayer, Dark like the 'sixties, place and past akin. All else has changed, but this remains the same, A sanctuary in a sanctuary. 

 Where Lincoln prayed! What passion had his soul-- Mixt faith and anguish melting into prayer Upon the burning altar of God's fane, A nation's altar even as his own. 

 Where Lincoln prayed! Such worshipers as he Make thin ranks down the ages. Wouldst thou know His spirit suppliant? Then must thou feel War's fiery baptism, taste hate's bitter cup, Spend similar sweat of blood vicarious, And sound the cry, "If it be possible!" From stricken heart in new Gethsemane. 

 Who saw him there are gone, as he is gone; The pew remains, with what God gave him there, And all the world through him. So let it be-- One of the people's shrines. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1858

 From a photograph in possession of Mr. Stuart Brown of Springfield, Illinois]

John James Piatt was born in Indiana, March 1, 1835. His earliestschooling was received at Rising Sun, in Indiana. At the age offourteen he was set to learn the printing business in the office ofthe _Ohio State Journal_ at Columbus, Ohio, for a brief period, and atthe age of eighteen years first began to write verses. His poems werechiefly on themes connected with his native West. 

 SONNET IN 1862

 Stern be the Pilot in the dreadful hour When a great nation, like a ship at sea With the wroth breakers whitening at her lee, Feels her last shudder if her helmsman cower; A godlike manhood be his mighty dower! Such and so gifted, Lincoln, may'st thou be With thy high wisdom's low simplicity And awful tenderness of voted power. From our hot records then thy name shall stand On Time's calm ledger out of passionate days-- With the pure debt of gratitude begun, And only paid in never-ending praise-- One of the many of a mighty land, Made by God's providence the Anointed One. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 [Signed: For Mrs. Lucy G. Speed, from whose pious hand I accepted the present of an Oxford Bible twenty years ago. 

 Washington, D. C. October 3, 1861

 A. Lincoln ]]

Lincoln once said: "When any church will inscribe over its altar, asits sole qualification for membership, the Saviour's condensedstatement of the substance of both law and gospel, 'Thou shalt lovethe Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with allthy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself', that church will I join withall my heart and all my soul. "

 LINCOLN, SOLDIER OF CHRIST

 _From Macmillan's Magazine, England_

 Lincoln! When men would name a man Just, unperturbed, magnanimous, Tried in the lowest seat of all, Tried in the chief seat of the house--

 Lincoln! When men would name a man Who wrought the great work of his age, Who fought, and fought the noblest fight, And marshalled it from stage to stage. 

 Victorious, out of dusk and dark, And into dawn and on till day, Most humble when the pæans rang, Least rigid when the enemy lay

 Prostrated for his feet to tread-- This name of Lincoln will they name, A name revered, a name of scorn, Of scorn to sundry, not to fame. 

 Lincoln; the man who freed the slave; Lincoln, whom never self enticed; Slain Lincoln, worthy found to die A soldier of the captain Christ. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1860

 Photographed by Brady at the time of the "Cooper Institute Speech, " February, 1860]

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Gardner, Washington]

Rev. Hamilton Schuyler was born in Oswego, New York, 1862, and is ason of the late Anthony Schuyler, who was for many years rector ofGrace Church, Orange, New Jersey. He belongs to the well-known familyof that name, being seventh in descent from Philip Peterse Schuyler, founder of the family, who came to this country from Holland andsettled in Albany in 1650. He studied at Oxford University, England, and the General Theological Seminary of New York. Has held positionsin Calvary Church, New York; Trinity Church, Newport, Rhode Island, and was for several years dean of the Cathedral at Davenport, Iowa, under the late Bishop Perry. He began his rectorship at Trenton inFebruary, 1900. Has written extensively for journals and periodicals. Among the bound publications which bear his name as author are _AFisher of Men_, a biography of the late Churchill Satterlee, priestand missionary, son of the first Bishop of Washington; _Studies inEnglish Church History_; _The Intellectual Crisis ConfrontingChristianity_; and _A History of Trinity Church, Trenton_. In 1900 hispoem, _The Incapable_, won a prize of two hundred dollars offered bythe late Collis P. Huntington through the _New York Sun_, for the bestpoems antithetical to Edwin Markham's _Man With the Hoe_. A volume ofMr. Schuyler's verses, under the title _Within the Cloister's Shadow_, was published in 1914. 

 A CHARACTERIZATION OF LINCOLN

 _From Lincoln Centenary Ode_

 Tall, ungainly, gaunt of limb, Rudely Nature molded him. Awkward form and homely face, Owing naught to outward grace; Yet, behind the rugged mien Were a mind and soul serene, And in deep-set eyes there shone Genius that was all his own. Humor quaint with pathos blent To his speech attraction lent; Telling phrase and homely quip Falling lightly from his lip. Eloquent of tongue, and clear, Logical, devoid of fear, Making plain whate'er was dense By the light of common sense. Tender as the bravest be, Pitiful in high degree, Wrathful only where offence Led to grievous consequence; Hating sham and empty show; Chivalrous to beaten foe; Ever patient in his ways; Cheerful in the darkest days; Not a demi-god or saint Such as fancy loves to paint, But a truly human man Built on the heroic plan. 

 [Illustration: EMANCIPATION GROUP]

Moses Kimball, a citizen of Boston, presented to the city a duplicateof the Freedman's Memorial Statue erected in Lincoln Park, Washington, D. C. , after a design by Thomas Ball. The group, which stands in ParkSquare, represents the figure of a slave from whose limbs the brokenfetters have fallen, kneeling in gratitude at the feet of Lincoln. Theverses which follow were written for the unveiling of the statue, December 9, 1879. 

John Greenleaf Whittier, born December 17, 1807, in Haverhill, Massachusetts. He lived on a farm until he reached the age ofeighteen, working a little at shoemaking and also writing poetry forthe _Haverhill Gazette_. Later he became editor of a number of papers, and his poems in after life were full of patriotism and the love ofhuman freedom, all of which attained a strong hold on the hearts ofthe people. He would have prevented war, if possible, with honor, butwhen war came he wrote in support of the Union cause, displaying nobitterness, and when the conflict was over he was most liberal andconciliatory. He was one of the most popular of poets. He diedSeptember 7, 1892. 

 THE EMANCIPATION GROUP

 Amidst thy sacred effigies Of old renown give place, O city. Freedom-loved! to his Whose hand unchained a race. 

 Take the worn frame, that rested not Save in a martyr's grave; The care-lined face, that none forgot, Bent to the kneeling slave. 

 Let man be free! The mighty word He spoke was not his own; An impulse from the Highest stirred These chiseled lips alone. 

 The cloudy sign, the fiery guide, Along his pathway ran, And Nature, through his voice, denied The ownership of man. 

 We rest in peace where these sad eyes Saw peril, strife, and pain; His was the Nation's sacrifice, And ours the priceless gain. 

 O symbol of God's will on earth As it is done above Bear witness to the cost and worth Of justice and of love!

 Stand in thy place and testify To coming ages long, That truth is stronger than a lie, And righteousness than wrong. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C. , 1863]

Theron Brown, born at Willimantic, Connecticut, April 29, 1832. Graduated at Hartford Theological Seminary in 1858; Newton TheologicalInstitution, 1859. Ordained in Baptist Ministry, 1859; Pastor SouthFramingham, Massachusetts, 1859-62; Canton, Massachusetts, 1863-70; onstaff _Youth's Companion_ since 1870. Author various juvenile stories;_Life Songs_ (poems), 1894; _Nameless Women of the Bible_, 1904; _TheStory of the Hymns and Tunes_, 1907; _Under the Mulberry Tree_ (anovel), 1909; _The Birds of God_, 1911. He died February 14, 1914. 

 THE LIBERATOR

 When, scornful of a nation's rest, The angry horns of Discord blew There came a giant from the West, And found a giant's work to do. 

 He saw, in sorrow--and in wrath-- A mighty empire in its strait, Torn like a planet in its path To warring hemisphere of hate. 

 Between the thunder-clouds he stood; He harked to Ruin's battle-drum, And cried in patriot hardihood, "Why do I wait? My hour has come!

 "Was it my fate, my lot, my woe To be the Ruler of the land, Nor own my oath that long ago I swore upon this heart and hand?

 "That vow, like barb from bowman's string, Shall pierce sedition's secret plea: God grant the bloodless blow shall sting Till brother's quarrels cease to be!

 "Should once the sudden wound provoke New strife in anger's zone The clash may be the penal stroke That makes a new Republic one. "

 He wrote his Message--clear as light, And bolder than a king's command-- And when war's whirlwinds spent their might There was no bondman in the land. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Alexander Gardner, Washington, D. C. , January 24, 1863]

 TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 _January 1, 1863_

 Lincoln, that with thy steadfast truth the sand Of men and time and circumstance dost sway! The slave-cloud dwindles on this golden day, And over all the pestilent southern land, Breathless, the dark expectant millions stand, To watch the northern sun rise on its way, Cleaving the stormy distance--every ray Sword-bright, sword-sharp, in God's invisible hand. 

 Better with this great end, partial defeat, And jibings of the ignorant worldly-wise, Than laud and triumph won with shameful blows. The dead Past lies in its dead winding-sheet; The living Present droops with tearful eyes; But far beyond the awaiting Future glows. 

 _Edmund Ollier, in London (Eng. ) Morning Star. _

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C. ]

Charles G. Foltz was born at West Winfield, Herkimer County, New York, September 9, 1837. His parents were Benjamin Foltz, a Presbyterianclergyman, and Jane Harwood Foltz. In 1846 the family moved toCuyahoga County, Ohio. In 1849 to Wisconsin, first to Rock County, then to Walworth County, and in 1854 to Burlington, Racine County, where he has since resided. 

 ON FREEDOM'S SUMMIT

 On freedom's summit, Oh, how grand Stood Lincoln ruler of our land, As he issued the sublime command Let the enslaved be free. Ere long he saw the Bondmen rise; Ere long as Freedmen seize the prize, The precious boon of liberty. 

 A backward glance he cast Into the valley of the past, Amid the shade and gloom Discerning slavery's tomb. Out from the depths his upturned eyes Beheld the fleeing clouds the brighter skies. Upon him shone a glory like the sun, Reflecting "peace toward all, malice toward none. "

 As thus he filled his high exalted place, The brave emancipator of a race, He thought of the fierce struggle and the victory And humbly deemed himself to be Only the instrument of a Divine decree. Rejoicing in the faith of brighter coming days His "fervent prayers" were merged in those of praise. 

 Like unto psalmists of the olden time His uttered thoughts inspired the nation's song, Throughout the land the chorus rose sublime, The exultant triumph of the right o'er wrong. 

 "Behold, what God the Lord hath wrought, " More than we asked, or hoped, or thought. Through the "Red sea" of blood and carnage He brought our nation free of bondage. With Moses sing, yea shout O North; With Miriam answer back O South: That "He hath triumphed gloriously. "

 . . . . . 

 Oh why the sudden blotting out of light? The cloud of sorrow, dark as Plutonian night, That cast its lengthening shadow o'er the land; Changing to funeral dirge the choral grand. Swift as the typhoon's breath-- The harbinger of death-- The cruel deed of hate Swept the grand chief away. Unto this day, and ever aye, The nation mourns her martyr's fate. 

 [Illustration: Lincoln at Gettysburg]

 ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE DEDICATION OF THE CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on thiscontinent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to theproposition 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 aremet on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate aportion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gavetheir lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting andproper that we should do this. 

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--wecannot hallow--this ground. The brave men, living and dead, whostruggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to addor detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we sayhere, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us theliving, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which theywho fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for usto be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, --that fromthese honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for whichthey gave their last full measure of devotion--that we here highlyresolve that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom--and that government ofthe people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from theearth. 

 November 19, 1863. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

"Undoubtedly there were many in the audience who fully appreciated thebeauty of the President's address, and many of those who read it onthe following day perceived its wondrous character; but it is apparentthat its full force and grandeur were not generally recognized then, either by its auditors or its readers. Not until the war had ended andthe great leader had fallen did the nation realize that this speechhad given to Gettysburg another claim to immortality and to Americaneloquence its highest glory. "--From the monograph on the GettysburgAddress, by Maj. William H. Lambert. 

Bayard Taylor, born in Kennett Square, Chester County, Pennsylvania, on the 11th of January, 1825. Died in Berlin, Germany, on the 19th ofDecember, 1878. His boyhood was passed on a farm near Kennett. Helearned to read at four, began to write at an early age, and from histwelfth year wrote poems, novels and historical essays, but mostlypoems. In 1837 the family moved to Westchester, and there and atUnionville he had five years of high-school training. His first poemprinted was contributed to the _Saturday Evening Post_, in 1841, andthose to the _New York Tribune_ from abroad, written in 1844, werewidely read and shortly after his return were collected and publishedin _Views Afoot, or Europe Seen With Knapsack and Staff_. With afriend he bought a printing office in 1846, and began to publish the_Phoenixville Pioneer_, but it was as a poet that he excelled abovemost other vocations. 

 GETTYSBURG ODE

 After the eyes that looked, the lips that spake Here, from the shadows of impending death, Those words of solemn breath, What voice may fitly break The silence, doubly hallowed, left by him? We can but bow the head, with eyes grown dim, And, as a Nation's litany, repeat The phrase his martyrdom hath made complete, Noble as then, but now more sadly sweet: "Let us, the Living, rather dedicate Ourselves to the unfinished work, which they Thus far advanced so nobly on its way, And saved the periled State! Let us, upon this field where they, the brave, Their last full measure of devotion gave, Highly resolve they have not died in vain!-- That, under God, the Nation's later birth Of freedom, and the people's gain Of their own Sovereignty, shall never wane And perish from the circle of the earth!" From such a perfect text, shall Song aspire To light her faded fire, And into wandering music turn Its virtue, simple, sorrowful, and stern? His voice all elegies anticipated; For, whatsoe'er the strain, We hear that one refrain: "We consecrate ourselves to them, the Consecrated!"

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN AND HIS SON THOMAS ("TAD")]

Benjamin Franklin Taylor, born at Lowville, New York, July 19, 1819. He was for several years connected with the _Chicago Evening Journal_. He wrote _Pictures of Life in Camp and Field_ (1871); _The World onWheels_, etc. (1874); _Songs of Yesterday_ (1877); _Between the Gates_(1878); _Summer Savory_, etc. (1879); _Dulce Domum_ (1884);_Theophilus Trent_, a novel (1887); etc. Among his best known poemsare: _Isle of the Long Ago_, _Rhymes of the River_, and _The OldVillage Choir_. 

 LINCOLN'S SECOND INAUGURAL

 The following is an excerpt from a _Centennial Poem_ read by B. F. Taylor on Decoration Day (May 30, 1876), on the occasion of the centennial celebration by the Department of the Potomac, Grand Army of the Republic, at Arlington Cemetery, Washington, D. C. 

 They see the pilgrims to the Springfield tomb-- Be proud today, oh, portico of gloom!-- Where lies the man in solitary state Who never caused a tear but when he died And set the flags around the world half-mast-- The gentle Tribune and so grandly great That e'en the utter avarice of Death That claims the world, and will not be denied, Could only rob him of his mortal breath. How strange the splendor, though the man be past! His noblest inspiration was his last. The statues of the Capitol are there. As when he stood upon the marble stair And said those words so tender, true and just, A royal psalm that took mankind on trust-- Those words that will endure and he in them, While May wears flowers upon her broidered hem, And all that marble snows and drifts to dust: "Fondly do we hope, fervently we pray That this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away: With charity for all, with malice toward none, With firmness in the right As God shall give us light, Let us finish the work already begun, Care for the battle sons, the Nation's wounds to bind, Care for the helpless ones that they will leave behind, Cherish it we will, achieve it if we can, A just and lasting peace, forever unto man!" Amid old Europe's rude and thundering years, When people strove as battle-clouds are driven, One calm white angel of a day appears In every year a gift direct from Heaven, Wherein, from setting sun to setting sun No thought of deed of bitterness was done. "Day of the Truce of God!" Be this day ours, Until perpetual peace flows like a river And hopes as fragrant as these tribute flowers Fill all the land forever and forever!

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C. ]

Hermann Hagedorn, born in New York, July 18, 1882. Instructor inEnglish at Harvard in 1909-1911. Wrote several one-act plays whichwere produced by the Harvard Dramatic Club, and by clubs of othercolleges. Author of _The Silver Blade_ (a play in verse), _The Womanof Corinth_, _A Troop of the Guard_ and other poems. 

 OH, PATIENT EYES!

 Oh, patient eyes! oh, bleeding, mangled heart! Oh, hero, whose wide soul, defying chains, Swept at each army's head, Swept to the charge and bled, Gathering in one too sorrow-laden heart All woes, all pains; The anguish of the trusted hope that wanes, The soldier's wound, the lonely mourner's smart. He knew the noisy horror of the fight, From dawn to dusk and through the hideous night He heard the hiss of bullets, the shrill scream Of the wide-arching shell, Scattering at Gettysburg or by Potomac's stream, Like summer flowers, the pattering rain of death; With every breath, He tasted battle and in every dream, Trailing like mists from gaping walls of hell, He heard the thud of heroes as they fell. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Brady]

Margaret Elizabeth Sangster, born at New Rochelle, New York, February22, 1838. Educated privately, chiefly in New York. Became contributorto leading periodicals; also editor of _Hearth and Home_, 1871-73;_Christian at Work_, 1873-79; _The Christian Intelligencer_ since1879; postmistress _Harper's Young People_, 1882-89; editor _Harper'sBazar_, 1889-99; staff contributor _Christian Herald_ since 1894;_Ladies' Home Journal_, 1899-1905; _Woman's Home Companion_ since1905. Author _Poems of the Household_; _Home Fairies and HeartFlowers_; _On the Road Home_; _Easter Bells_; _Winsome Womanhood_;_Little Knights and Ladies_; _Lyrics of Love_; _When Angels Come toMen_; _Good Manners for All Occasions_; _The Story Bible_; _FairestGirlhood_; _From My Youth Up_; _Happy School Days_. She died June 4, 1912. 

 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 (_February 12, 1809-1909_)

 Child of the boundless prairie, son of the virgin soil, Heir to the bearing of burdens, brother to them that toil; God and Nature together shaped him to lead in the van, In the stress of her wildest weather when the Nation needed a Man. 

 Eyes of a smoldering fire, heart of a lion at bay, Patience to plan for tomorrow, valor to serve for today, Mournful and mirthful and tender, quick as a flash with a jest, Hiding with gibe and great laughter the ache that was dull in his breast. 

 Met were the Man and the Hour--Man who was strong for the shock-- Fierce were the lightnings unleashed; in the midst, he stood fast as a rock. Comrade he was and commander, he who was meant for the time, Iron in council and action, simple, aloof, and sublime. 

 Swift slip the years from their tether, centuries pass like a breath, Only some lives are immortal, challenging darkness and death. Hewn from the stuff of the martyrs, write on the stardust his name, Glowing, untarnished, transcendent, high on the records of Fame. 

 Oh, man of many sorrows, 'twas your blood That flowed at Chickamauga, at Bull Run, Vicksburg, Antietam, and the gory wood And Wilderness of ravenous Deaths that stood Round Richmond like a ghostly garrison: Your blood for those who won, For those who lost, your tears! For you the strife, the fears, For us, the sun! For you the lashing winds and the beating rain in your eyes, For us the ascending stars and the wide, unbounded skies. 

 Oh, man of storms! Patient and kingly soul! Oh, wise physician of a wasted land! A nation felt upon its heart your hand, And lo, your hand hath made the shattered, whole, With iron clasp your hand hath held the wheel Of the lurching ship, on tempest waves no keel Hath ever sailed. A grim smile held your lips when strong men quailed. You strove alone with chaos and prevailed; You felt the grinding shock and did not reel, And, ah, your hand that cut the battle's path Wide with the devastating plague of wrath, Your bleeding hand, gentle with pity yet, Did not forget To bless, to succor, and to heal. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Alexander Gardner, Washington, D. C. , 1864]

Wilbur Dick Nesbit was born at Xenia, Ohio, September 16, 1871. Educated in the public schools at Cedarville, Ohio. Was printer andreporter on various Ohio and Indiana papers until 1898; verse writerand paragrapher _Baltimore American_, 1899-1902; since that yearwriter of verse and humor _Chicago Evening Post_ and other newspapers, contributor of stories and poems to magazines and periodicals. Authorof _Little Henry's Slate_, 1903; _The Trail to Boyland and OtherPoems_, 1904; _An Alphabet of History_, 1905; _The Gentleman Ragman_, 1906; _A Book of Poems_, 1906; _The Land of Make-Believe and OtherChristmas Poems_, 1907; _A Friend or Two_, 1908; _The Loving Cup_(compilation), 1909; _The Old, Old Wish_, 1911; _My Company ofFriends_, 1911; _If the Heart be Glad_, 1911; co-author with OttoHauerbach of _The Girl of My Dreams_, a musical comedy, 1910. 

 THE MAN LINCOLN

 Not as the great who grow more great Until from us they are apart-- He walks with us in man's estate; We know his was a brother heart. The marching years may render dim The humanness of other men; Today we are akin to him As they who knew him best were then. 

 Wars have been won by mail-clad hands, Realms have been ruled by sword-hedged kings, But he above these others stands As one who loved the common things; The common faith of man was his, The common faith of man he had-- For this today his grave face is A face half joyous and half sad. 

 A man of earth! Of earthy stuff, As honest as the fruitful soil, Gnarled as the friendly trees, and rough As hillsides that had known his toil; Of earthy stuff--let it be told, For earth-born men rise and reveal A courage fair as beaten gold And the enduring strength of steel. 

 So now he dominates our thought. This humble great man holds us thus Because of all he dreamed and wrought; Because he is akin to us. He held his patient trust in truth While God was working out His plan, And they that were his foes, forsooth, Came to pay tribute to the Man. 

 Not as the great who grow more great Until they have a mystic fame-- No stroke of fortune nor of fate Gave Lincoln his undying name. A common man, earth-bred, earth-born, One of the breed who work and wait-- His was a soul above all scorn. His was a heart above all hate. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN AT ANTIETAM

 Photograph taken on the battlefield, September, 1862, with General McClellan and Allen Pinkerton]

Edwin Arlington Robinson, born at Head Tide, Maine, December 22, 1869. Educated at Gardiner, Maine, and Harvard University, 1891-3. MemberNational Institute Arts and Letters. Author: _The Torrent_ and _TheNight Before_, 1896; _The Children of the Night_, 1897, 1905; _CaptainCraig_ (poems), _The Town Down the River_, 1910. 

 THE MASTER

 (LINCOLN)

 A flying word from here and there Had sown the name at which we sneered, But soon the name was everywhere, To be reviled and then revered: A presence to be loved and feared, We cannot hide it, or deny That we, the gentlemen who jeered, May be forgotten by and by. 

 He came when days were perilous And hearts of men were sore beguiled; And having made his note of us, He pondered and was reconciled. Was ever master yet so mild As he, and so untamable? We doubted, even when he smiled, Not knowing what he knew so well. 

 He knew that undeceiving fate Would shame us whom he served unsought; He knew that he must wince and wait-- The jest of those for whom he fought; He knew devoutly what he thought Of us and of our ridicule; He knew that we must all be taught Like little children in a school. 

 We gave a glamour to the task That he encountered and saw through, But little of us did he ask, And little did we ever do. And what appears if we review The season when we railed and chaffed? It is the face of one who knew That we were learning while we laughed. 

 The face that in our vision feels Again the venom that we flung, Transfigured to the world reveals The vigilance to which we clung. Shrewd, hallowed, harassed, and among The mysteries that are untold, The face we see was never young Nor could it ever have been old. 

 For he, to whom we had applied Our shopman's test of age and worth, Was elemental when he died, As he was ancient at his birth: The saddest among kings of earth, Bowed with a galling crown, this man Met rancor with a cryptic mirth, Laconic--and Olympian. 

 The love, the grandeur, and the fame Are bounded by the world alone; The calm, the smouldering, and the flame Of awful patience were his own; With him they are forever flown Past all our fond self-shadowings, Wherewith we cumber the Unknown As with inept, Icarian wings. 

 For we were not as other men: 'Twas ours to soar and his to see. But we are coming down again, And we shall come down pleasantly; Nor shall we longer disagree On what it is to be sublime, But flourish in our perigee And have one Titan at a time. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Gardner, Washington, D. C. Taken when Lincoln appointed General U. S. Grant Commander-in-chief of the Army, in 1864]

 LINCOLN

 _By Harriet Monroe_

 And, lo! leading a blessed host comes one Who held a warring nation in his heart; Who knew love's agony, but had no part In love's delight; whose mighty task was done Through blood and tears that we might walk in joy, And this day's rapture own no sad alloy. Around him heirs of bliss, whose bright brows wear Palm leaves amid their laurels ever fair. Gaily they come, as though the drum Beat out the call their glad hearts knew so well; Brothers once more, dear as of yore, Who in a noble conflict nobly fell. Their blood washed pure yon banner in the sky, And quenched the brands laid 'neath these arches high-- The brave who, having fought, can never die. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT-ELECT LINCOLN

 From a photograph taken with his Secretaries, John G. Nicolay and John Hay, Springfield, Illinois, 1861]

Walt Mason, born at Columbus, Ontario, May 4, 1862. Self educated. Came to the United States 1880. Connected with the _Atchinson Globe_1885-7, later with _Lincoln_ (Nebraska) _State Journal_ and otherpapers; editorial paragrapher _Evening News_, Washington, D. C. , 1893;associated with William Allen White on _Emporia_ (Kansas) _Gazette_since 1907. His rhymes and prose poems are widely copied in America. 

 THE EYES OF LINCOLN

 Sad eyes that were patient and tender, Sad eyes that were steadfast and true, And warm with the unchanging splendor Of courage no ills could subdue!

 Eyes dark with the dread of the morrow, And woe for the day that was gone, The sleepless companions of sorrow, The watchers that witnessed the dawn. 

 Eyes tired from the clamor and goading And dim from the stress of the years, And hallowed by pain and foreboding And strained by repression of tears. 

 Sad eyes that were wearied and blighted By visions of sieges and wars Now watch o'er a country united From the luminous slopes of the stars!

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN IN 1862

 Photograph by Matthew Brady, Washington, D. C. ]

Arthur Guiterman, author, born of American parentage, at Vienna, Austria, November 20, 1871. Editorial work on _Woman's HomeCompanion_, _Literary Digest_ and other magazines since 1891. Authorof _Betel Nuts_, 1907; _Guest Book_, 1908; _Rubiayat_, including the_Literary Omar_, 1909, and _Orestes_ (with Andre Tridon), 1909. Contributor chiefly of ballad, lyric verse and short stories tomagazines and newspapers. 

 HE LEADS US STILL

 Dare we despair? Through all the nights and days Of lagging war he kept his courage true. Shall Doubt befog our eyes? A darker haze But proved the faith of him who ever knew That Right must conquer. May we cherish hate For our poor griefs, when never word nor deed Of rancor, malice, spite, of low or great, In his large soul one poison-drop could breed?

 He leads us still. O'er chasms yet unspanned Our pathway lies; the work is but begun; But we shall do our part and leave our land The mightier for noble battles won. Here Truth must triumph, Honor must prevail; The nation Lincoln died for cannot fail!

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C. , 1864]

S. Weir Mitchell, born at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, February 15, 1829. Educated in grammar school, and University of Pennsylvania, butwas not graduated because of illness during senior year; Doctor ofMedicine, Jefferson Medical College, 1850; LL. D. , Harvard, 1886;Edinburgh, 1895; Princeton, 1896; Toronto, 1896; Jefferson MedicalCollege, Philadelphia, 1910. Established practice in Philadelphia. Author of many works on treatment of diseases. _Collected Poems_, 1896-1909; _Youth of Washington_, 1904; _A Diplomatic Adventure_, 1905; _The Mind Reader_, 1907; _A Christmas Venture_, 1907; _JohnSherwood, Ironmaster_, 1911. 

 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. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 In the Public Square, Hodgenville, Kentucky. Adolph A. Weinman, Sculptor]

George Alfred Townsend was born in Georgetown, Delaware, January 30, 1841. In 1860 he began writing for the press and speaking in public, and in 1860 adopted the profession of journalism. In 1862 he became awar correspondent for the _New York World_, the _Chicago Tribune_ andother papers, and made an enviable reputation as a descriptive writer. He also published a number of books both of prose and poetry. 

 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 The peaceful valley reaching wide, The wild war stilled on every hand; On Pisgah's top our prophet died, In sight of promised land. 

 Low knelt the foeman's serried fronts, His cannon closed their lips of brass, -- The din of arms hushed all at once To let this good man pass. 

 A cheerful heart he wore alway, Though tragic years clashed on the while; Death sat behind him at the play-- His last look was a smile. 

 No battle-pike his march imbrued, Unarmed he went midst martial mails, The footsore felt their hopes renewed To hear his homely tales. 

 His single arm crushed wrong and thrall That grand good will we only dreamed, Two races wept around his pall, One saved and one redeemed. 

 The trampled flag he raised again, And healed our eagle's broken wing; The night that scattered armed men Saw scorpions rise to sting. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C. , 1864]

Paul Lawrence Dunbar, born of negro parents at Dayton, Ohio, June 27, 1872. Was graduated at the Dayton High School in 1891, and since thenhas devoted himself to literature and journalism. He has written _Oakand Ivy_ (poems); _Lyrics of Lowly Life_ (poems), and _The Uncalled_(a novel). Since 1898 he has been on the staff of the Librarian ofCongress. 

 LINCOLN

 Hurt was the Nation with a mighty wound, And all her ways were filled with clam'rous sound. Wailed loud the South with unremitting grief, And wept the North that could not find relief. Then madness joined its harshest tone to strife: A minor note swelled in the song of life Till, stirring with the love that filled his breast, But still, unflinching at the Right's behest Grave Lincoln came, strong-handed, from afar, -- The mighty Homer of the lyre of war! 'Twas he who bade the raging tempest cease, Wrenched from his strings the harmony of peace, Muted the strings that made the discord, --Wrong, And gave his spirit up in thund'rous song. Oh, mighty Master of the mighty lyre! Earth heard and trembled at thy strains of fire: Earth learned of thee what Heaven already knew, And wrote thee down among her treasured few!

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Gardner, Washington, D. C. , 1865]

Alice Cary was born in Mount Healthy, near Cincinnati, Ohio, April 20, 1820. Her first book of poems, with her sister Phoebe, was publishedin 1850. Her poems and prose writings were pictures from life andnature, among which were _Pictures of Memory_, _Mulberry Hill_, _Coming Home_ and _Nobility_. She died at her home in New York City, February 12, 1871. This poem is inscribed to the _London Punch_. 

 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 No glittering chaplet brought from other lands! As in his life, this man, in death, is ours; His own loved prairies o'er his "gaunt, gnarled hands, " Have fitly drawn their sheet of summer flowers!

 What need hath he now of a tardy crown, His name from mocking jest and sneer to save When every plowman turns his furrow down As soft as though it fell upon his grave?

 He was a man whose like the world again Shall never see, to vex with blame or praise; The landmarks that attest his bright, brief reign, Are battles, not the pomps of gala days!

 The grandest leader of the grandest war That ever time in history gave a place, -- What were the tinsel flattery of a star To such a breast! or what a ribbon's grace!

 'Tis to th' man, and th' man's honest worth, The Nation's loyalty in tears upsprings; Through him the soil of labor shines henceforth, High o'er the silken broideries of kings. 

 The mechanism of eternal forms-- The shifts that courtiers put their bodies through-- Were alien ways to him: his brawny arms Had other work than posturing to do!

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Alexander Gardner, Washington, D. C. , 1865]

Rose Terry Cooke was born in West Hartford, Connecticut, February 17, 1827. Graduated at Hartford Female Seminary in 1843. She has writtenmany short stories and a number of books of poems. 

 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 Hundreds there have been, loftier than their kind, Heroes and victors in the world's great wars: Hundreds, exalted as the eternal stars, By the great heart, or keen and mighty mind; There have been sufferers, maimed and halt and blind, Who bore their woes in such triumphant calm That God hath crowned them with the martyr's palm; And there were those who fought through fire to find Their Master's face, and were by fire refined. But who like thee, oh Sire! hath ever stood Steadfast for truth and right, when lies and wrong Rolled their dark waters, turbulent and strong; Who bore reviling, baseness, tears and blood Poured out like water, till thine own was spent, Then reaped Earth's sole reward--a grave and monument!

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C. , 1865]

Frederick Lucian Hosmer, born at Framingham, Massachusetts, October16, 1840. Graduated at Harvard in 1869. Ordained in Unitarian Ministryat Northboro, Massachusetts, in 1869. Author of _The Way of Life_, _The Thought of God, in Hymns and Poems_. 

 LINCOLN

 The prairies to the mountains call, The mountains to the sea; From shore to shore a nation keeps Her martyr's memory. 

 Though lowly born, the seal of God 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 God 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 Dickinson, 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 ofPennsylvania, at Binghamton, New York, and in New York City 1865-77, when he abandoned the profession because of broken health. Editor andproprietor of _Binghamton Republican_, 1878-1911. In 1892, upon hissuggestion and initiative the various news organizations were combinedinto the present Associated Press. Presidential elector, 1896; UnitedStates Consul-General to Turkey, 1897-1906; Diplomatic agent toBulgaria, 1901-1903. While acting in this capacity the Americanmissionary, Ellen M. Stone, was carried off by brigands, but releasedthrough his settlement and efforts. Member board to draft regulationsfor government of American consular service 1906; AmericanConsul-General at-large, 1906-October 1, 1908. Author of _History ofDickinson Family_, 1885; _The Children and Other Verses_, 1889; partof 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 God 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, God 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. 

 God passed 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 surpassed, God crowned him martyr at the last. 

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

 [Illustration: FORD'S THEATRE]

The building is a plain brick structure, three stories high, seventy-one feet front and one hundred feet deep. It was originallyconstructed and occupied as a Baptist Church, but at the beginning ofthe war was converted into a theatre, though never used for thatpurpose after the assassination of Lincoln. The government purchasedit for one hundred thousand dollars, and it is now used as a branch ofthe Record and Pension Division of the War Department. PresidentLincoln was shot by J. Wilkes Booth at 10. 20 o'clock P. M. On theevening of April 14, 1865, while seated in his private box in thetheatre. 

 SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS!

 _By Robert Leighton_

 "Sic semper tyrannis!" the assassin 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_

 [Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 Foully assassinated, April 14, 1865]

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

 ABRAHAM LINCOLN, FOULLY ASSASSINATED

 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 God 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, The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise, And took both with the same unwavering mood; Till, as he came on light from darking days, And seemed to touch the goal from where he stood, A felon hand, between the goal and him, Reached from behind his back, a trigger prest, -- And those perplexed and patient eyes were dim, Those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to rest!

 The words of mercy were upon his lips, Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen, When this vile murderer brought swift eclipse To thoughts of peace on earth, good will to men. 

 The Old World and the New, from sea to sea, Utter one voice of sympathy and shame! Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high, Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came. 

 A deed accurst! Strokes have been struck before By the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt If more of horror or disgrace they bore; But thy foul crime, like CAIN'S stands darkly out. 

 Vile hand, that brandest murder on a strife, Whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly striven; And with the martyr's crown crownest a life With much to praise, little to be forgiven!

 [Illustration: DEATHBED OF LINCOLN]

Immediately after the President was shot in Ford's Theatre he wascarried across the street to the house of William Petersen and placedon a single bed in a room at the end of the hall. All through thatweary night the watchers stood by the bedside. He was unconsciousevery moment from the time the bullet entered his head until Dr. Robert King Stone, the family physician, announced at twenty-twominutes after seven on the following morning that he had breathed hislast (April 15, 1865). Upon this Secretary Edwin M. Stanton, Secretaryof War, in a low voice said: "_Now He Belongs to the Ages_. "

 THE DEATHBED

 Silence falls, unbroken save by sobs of strong men In that room, where Lincoln, at the morning hour's chime Passed out into the unknown from the world of human ken. Gone his body and his life work from the world inclosed by time; But in the silence that was falling after breath of broken prayer, Words eternal broke the quiet like a bell toll on the air; Never in the world's wide story, wiser spoke nor Prophet, spoke nor Sages, Than these words that broke the silence: "He belongs now to the Ages!"

 "To the Ages!" well you spoke it, Stanton of the massive mind! He belongs, the years have shown it, to the world of human kind! Heard his story, where'er hearts throb o'er the world's far spreading way; Heard his story, children listen at the closing of the day; Heard his story, lovers speak it in their hushed and saddened tones As they wander in the twilight, dreaming of their coming homes; Heard his story, statesmen tell it, with a thrill of pride and truth; Heard his story, old men speak it to the country's growing youth. And the years have shown the Prophets, and the years have shown the Sages; Writ in fire these words of wisdom, "He belongs now to the Ages!"

 [Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 President]

 [Illustration: EDWIN M. STANTON

 Secretary of War]

Marion Mills Miller was born at Eaton, Ohio, February 27, 1864. He wasgraduated from Princeton in 1886, and for several years thereafter wasan instructor there in the English department. In 1889 he received thedegree of Doctor of Literature from his Alma Mater. Since 1893 he hasbeen engaged in literary and social reform work in New York City. Hehas published some verse and fiction, but his most notable work hasbeen in the fields of translation and history. He has edited _TheClassics--Greek and Latin_ (15 volumes), published in 1909, and _GreatDebates in American History_ (14 volumes), published in 1913. 

In 1907 he edited the Centenary Edition of _The Life and Works ofAbraham Lincoln_ in 10 volumes, logically arranged for readyreference. The _Life of Lincoln_ was published separately in 1908 intwo volumes. It is based on a manuscript by Henry C. Whitney, whosename it bears as author, although the second volume, _Lincoln, thePresident_, was largely written by Dr. Miller. The late Major WilliamH. Lambert, president of the Lincoln Fellowship, called it "the bestof the shorter biographies of Lincoln. " Dr. Miller has also edited_The Wisdom of Lincoln_ (1908), a small book of extracts fromLincoln's speeches and writings. He wrote the following poem, "Lincolnand Stanton, " especially for THE POETS' LINCOLN. 

The first reference in it is to the Manny-McCormick case over thepatent rights of the reaping machine, in which Lincoln had been atfirst selected as principal pleader, but was superseded by Edwin M. Stanton. Having thoroughly prepared himself, he offered his assistanceto Stanton, but was brusquely repulsed. He was so hurt that he feltlike leaving the court room, but decided, in loyalty to his client, toremain, and, leaving his place among counsel, took a seat in theaudience. Despite his injured feelings he was filled with admirationfor Stanton's able and successful conduct of the case. Lincoln, probably referring to a slur of Stanton reported to him, said that hewould have to go back to Illinois and "study more law, " since the"college-bred" lawyers were pushing hard the "cornfield" ones. 

The second reference is to Stanton's criticism of Lincoln'sconservative course during the first months of his Presidency; "thatimbecile at the White House, " he called him. Stanton asAttorney-General at the close of Buchanan's administration had doneeffective work in foiling the plans of the Confederacy, and hebelieved in forceful measures to put down the rebellion in itsincipiency. 

The third reference is to the virtually enforced resignation of SimonCameron, Lincoln's first Secretary of War, and Lincoln's choice tosucceed him of Stanton, whom he realized to be the best equipped manin the country for the place. 

The fourth reference is to Stanton's remark by the bedside of Lincolnas the stricken President ceased breathing: "There lies the greatestleader of men the world ever saw. "

 LINCOLN AND STANTON

 Lincoln had cause one man alone to hate: A fellow-lawyer, lacking in all grace, Who cast uncalled-for insult in his face When Lincoln as his colleague, with innate Courtesy, proffered aid. With pride inflate The scornful Stanton waved him to his place, Snapping, "I need no help to try this case"; And "cornfield lawyer" muttered of his mate. 

 And when, as captain of the Union ship, Lincoln drew sail before the gathering storm Till favoring winds the shrouds unfurled should fill, Stanton again curled his contemptuous lip And, with the impatience of a patriot warm, Sneered at the helmsman, "craven imbecile. "

 Laid was the course at length; the sails untried Were spread; the raw crew set at spar and coil. Now round the prow Charybdean waters boil And ever higher surges war's red tide. The mate who should the captain's care divide Has strengthless proved. Where shall, the foe to foil, A man be found able to bear the toil And stand, to steer the ship, by Lincoln's side?

 Stanton he called! The bitter choice he made For country, not himself. The ship was driven By the great twain through war's abyss, again Into calm seas. Then Lincoln low was laid, And Stanton paid him highest tribute given To mortal: "Mightiest leader among men!"

 [Illustration: THE DEATH OF LINCOLN

 1 President Lincoln. 2 Hon. Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy. 3 John Hay, Esq. , President's Private Secretary. 4 Hon. E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War. 5 Rev. Dr. Gurley. 6 Gen. Farnsworth, M. C. From Illinois. 7 Governor Ogilsby of Illinois. 8 General Todd. 9 Rufus Andrews, Esq. 10 Hon. W. T. Otto, Assistant Secretary of the Interior. 11 Hon. W. Denison, Postmaster-General. 12 Judge D. K. Carter. 13 Major-General Halleck. 14 Captain Robert Lincoln. 15 Dr. Leale. 16 Hon. Charles Sumner. 17 Dr. Crane, Assistant Surgeon-General. 18 Governor Farwell, of Wisconsin. 19 Hon. J. P. Usher, Secretary of the Interior. 20 Major-General Augur. 21 Major-General Meigs. 22 Maunsel B. Field, Esq. 23 Hon. Schuyler Colfax. 24 Hon. James Speed, Attorney-General. 25 Hon. H. McCullough, Secretary of the Treasury 26 Dr. R. K. Stone. 27 Surgeon-General Barnes. ]

 [Illustration: HOUSE IN WHICH LINCOLN DIED

 Washington, D. C. ]

 [Illustration: JOSEPHINE OLDROYD TIEFENTHALER

 Born July 17, 1896. Died February 20, 1908]

Robert Mackay and his wife visited this historic house in 1902. Theywere met at the door and escorted through the various rooms containingthe Collection by Little Josephine, and were deeply impressed at theknowledge she exhibited of Lincoln and the Collection, although shewas but six years of age. Mr. Mackay was born at Virginia City, Nevada, April 22, 1871. Reporter _San Francisco Chronicle_, 1886. Worked on newspapers as printer, reporter and editor until 1895, whenhe traveled extensively over the world for the International NewsSyndicate; joined staff of the _New York World_ in 1899; managingeditor of _Success Magazine_, 1900-1908. Editor the _Delineator_, 1908. Joined editorial department of the Frank A. Munsey Company in1909, contributor of short stories, also other prose and verse. 

 THE HOUSE WHERE LINCOLN DIED

 Above Judea's purple-mantled plain, There hovers still, among the ruins lone, The spirit of the Christ whose dying moan Was heard in heaven, and paid our debt in pain. 

 As subtle perfume lingers with the rose, Even when its petals flutter to the earth, So clings the potent mystery of the birth Of that deep love from which all mercy flows. 

 . . . . . 

 Within this house, --this room, --a martyr died, A prophet of a larger liberty, -- A liberator setting bondmen free, A full-orbed MAN, above mere mortal pride. 

 The cloud-rifts opening to celestial glades, Oft glimpse him, and his spirit lingers still, As Christ's sweet influence broods upon the hill Where the red lily with the sunset fades. 

 . . . . . 

 A little girl with eyes of heavenly blue, Sings through the old place, ignorant of all; Her angel face, her cheerful, birdlike call Thrilling the heart to life more full, more true. 

 IN TOKEN OF RESPECT

 _Translation from Latin verses_

 From humble parentage and low degree Lincoln ascended to the highest rank; None ever had a harder task than he, It was perfected--him alone we thank. 

 Did the assassin think to kill a name, Or hand his own down to posterity? One will wear the laurel wreath of fame, The other be condemned to infamy. 

 Caesar was killed by Brutus, Yet Rome did not cease to be; Lincoln by Booth, and yet the slaves In all America are free!

 Rieti, France, May, 1865

 ENGLAND'S SORROW

 _From London Fun_

 The hand of an Assassin, glowing red, Shot like a firebrand through the western sky; And stalwart Abraham Lincoln now is dead! O! felon heart that thus could basely dye The name of southerner with murderous gore! Could such a spirit come from mortal womb? And what possessed it that not heretofore It linked its coward mission with the tomb? Lincoln! thy fame shall sound through many an age, To prove that genius lives in humble birth; Thy name shall sound upon historic page, For 'midst thy faults we all esteemed thy worth. 

 Gone art thou now! no more 'midst angry heat Shall thy calm spirit rule the surging tide, Which rolls where two contending nations meet, To still the passion and to curb the pride. Nations have looked and seen the fate of kings, Protectors, emperors, and such like men; Behold the man whose dirge all Europe sings, Now past the eulogy of mortal pen! He, like a lighthouse, fell athwart the strand; Let curses rest upon the assassin's hand. 

 [Illustration: THE FUNERAL OF LINCOLN

 Ceremonies in the East Room of the White House, April 19, 1865]

At ten minutes after twelve o'clock Rev. Charles H. Hall, of theChurch of the Epiphany, opened the service by reading from theEpiscopal Burial Service for the Dead. Bishop Matthew Simpson of theMethodist Church then offered prayer, and the Rev. Dr. Phineas D. Gurley, pastor of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, at whichMr. Lincoln and his family attended, delivered a sermon. The Rev. E. H. Gray, D. D. , of the E Street Baptist Church, closed the solemnservice with prayer. 

Phineas Densmore Gurley, born at Hamilton, New York, 1816. Educated atUnion College, Schenectady, New York. Taught during vacation, graduated 1837. Studied theology at the Theological Seminary, Princeton, New Jersey. Was licensed to preach in 1840. In 1840 he wentto Indianapolis, Indiana, and took charge of a church. In 1849 heremoved to Dayton, Ohio, taking charge of a church, and in 1853 movedto Washington, D. C. , and took charge of a Presbyterian Church on FStreet, afterwards Willard Hall. In 1858 was elected Chaplain of theUnited States Senate. In July, 1859, the Second Presbyterian Churchand the F Street Church united, and were known as the New York AvenuePresbyterian Church, Dr. Gurley becoming its pastor from March, 1861, until his death. President Lincoln was a pew holder and a regularattendant, but was not a member. On one occasion the Presidentremarked, "I like Dr. Gurley, he doesn't preach politics. I get enoughof that during the week, and when I go to church I like to heargospel. "

When the President was assassinated Dr. Gurley was sent for andremained with the President until he breathed his last. 

As soon as the spirit took its flight, Secretary Stanton turned to Dr. Gurley and said, "Doctor, will you say something?" After a briefpause, Dr. Gurley said, "Let us talk with God, " and offered a touchingprayer. Dr. Gurley died September 30, 1868. 

 THE FUNERAL HYMN OF LINCOLN

 Rest, noble martyr! rest in peace; Rest with the true and brave, Who, like thee, fell in freedom's cause, The nation's life to save. 

 Thy name shall live while time endures, And men shall say of thee, "He saved his country from its foes, And bade the slave be free. "

 These deeds shall be thy monument, Better than brass or stone; They leave thy fame in glory's light, Unrival'd and alone. 

 This consecrated spot shall be To freedom ever dear; And freedom's sons of every race Shall weep and worship here. 

 O God! before whom we, in tears, Our fallen chief deplore, Grant that the cause for which he died May live forevermore. 

Harriet McEwen Kimball, born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, November, 1834. Educated there; specially known as a religious poet, althoughshe has written much secular verse; chief founder of the PortsmouthCottage Hospital. Author hymns, _Swallow Flights_; _Blessed Company ofAll Faithful People_; _Poems_ (complete edition), 1889. 

 REST, REST FOR HIM

 Rest, rest for him whose noble work is done; For him who led us gently, unaware, Till we were readier to do and dare For Freedom, and her hundred fields were won. 

 His march is ended where his march began; More sweet his sleep for toil and sacrifice, And that rare wisdom whose beginning lies In fear of God, and charity for man;

 And sweetest for the tender faith that grew More strong in trial, and through doubt more clear, Seeing in clouds and darkness One appear In whose dread name the Nation's sword he drew. 

 Rest, rest for him; and rest for us today Whose sorrow shook the land from east to west When slain by treason on the Nation's breast Her martyr breathed his steadfast soul away. 

 [Illustration: THE FUNERAL CAR]

This car bore the remains of the Martyr President to his home inSpringfield, Illinois, where they were laid to rest. The funeral trainleft Washington, D. C. , on the 21st of April, 1865, proceeded fromthat city to Baltimore, Maryland; Harrisburg and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; New York City, Albany and Buffalo, New York; Clevelandand Columbus, Ohio; Indianapolis, Indiana; Chicago, Illinois; andfinally to Springfield, reaching the latter place May 3, where thelast sad rites were performed on the succeeding day. The body lay instate in all the above cities, brief stops being also made in manysmaller places. 

Richard Henry Stoddard in the following Horatian Ode made a beautifulanalysis of the Martyr President's character, with a magnificentpicture of the nation's tribute of mourning for its dead chief:

 THE FUNERAL CAR OF LINCOLN

 Peace! Let the long procession come, For, hark!--the mournful, muffled drum-- The trumpet's wail afar-- And, see! the awful car!

 Peace! let the sad procession go, While cannon boom, and bells toll slow: And go, thou sacred car, Bearing our Woe afar!

 Go, darkly borne, from State to State, Whose loyal, sorrowing cities wait To honor all they can The dust of that good man!

 Go, grandly borne, with such a train As greatest kings might die to gain; The Just, the Wise, the Brave Attend thee to the grave!

 And you the soldiers of our wars, Bronzed veterans, grim with noble scars, Salute him once again, Your late Commander--slain!

 Yes, let your tears, indignant, fall, And leave your muskets on the wall; Your country needs you now Beside the forge, the plow!

 (When Justice shall unsheathe her brand-- If Mercy may not stay her hand, Nor would we have it so-- She must direct the blow!)

 So, sweetly, sadly, sternly goes The Fallen to his last repose; Beneath no mighty dome, But in his modest Home!

 The churchyard where his children rest, The quiet spot that suits him best; There shall his grave be made, And there his bones be laid!

 And there his countrymen shall come, With memory proud, with pity dumb, And strangers far and near, For many and many a year!

 For many a year, and many an age, With History on her ample page The virtues shall enroll Of that Paternal Soul. 

William Cullen Bryant, born in Cummington, Massachusetts, November 3, 1794. Died in New York, June 12, 1878. He wrote verses in his twelfthyear to be recited at school. Spent two years at Williams College andat the age of eighteen began the study of law. He depended upon hisprofession for a number of years, although it was not to his liking. His contributions to the _North American Review_ and his poemspublished therein gained him an enviable reputation, and reflectedgreat credit upon him. 

 THE DEATH OF LINCOLN

 Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, Gentle and merciful and just! Who, in the fear of God didst bear The sword of power, a nation's trust. 

 In sorrow by thy bier we stand, Amid the awe that hushes all, And speak the anguish of a land That shook with horror at thy fall. 

 Thy task is done; the bond is free-- We bear thee to an honored grave, Whose noblest monument shall be The broken fetters of the slave. 

 Pure was thy life; its bloody close Hath placed thee with the sons of light Among the noble host of those Who perished in the cause of right. 

 [Illustration: CITY HALL, NEW YORK, N. Y. ]

At the time of the appearance of the procession at the City Hall atleast twenty thousand persons were assembled in the immediateneighborhood. While awaiting the arrival of the procession a number ofGerman singing bands were marched into the open space before the Hall, and arranged on either side of the entrance, preparatory to thesinging of a requiem to the dead. The procession entered the Park atabout half-past eleven o'clock, and the hearse stopped before theentrance to the Hall. Here the coffin was immediately taken from thehearse and carried up the stairs to the catafalque which had beenprepared for its reception, while the singing societies rendered twovery appropriate dirges. 

The interior of the City Hall had been decorated with much taste. Across the dome a black curtain was drawn, and the rays of light thusconducted fell subdued upon the sad but imposing spectacle. 

Henry T. Tuckerman, a member of the Committee on Resolutions, wrotethe following ode for the funeral obsequies, on the 25th day of April, 1865, at New York City. The Athenaeum Club participated, bearing anappropriate banner, the members wearing distinctive badges of mourningand under the leadership of their Vice-President, Henry E. Pierpont;the President, William T. Blodgett, being at that time absent actingas Chairman of the Citizens Committee:

 ODE

 Shroud the banner! rear the cross! Consecrate a nation's loss; Gaze on that majestic sleep; Stand beside the bier to weep; Lay the gentle son of toil Proudly in his native soil; Crowned with honor, to his rest Bear the prophet of the West. 

 How cold the brow that yet doth wear The impress of a nation's care; How still the heart, whose every beat Glowed with compassion's sacred heat; Rigid the lips, whose patient smile Duty's stern task would oft beguile; Blood-quenched the pensive eye's soft light; Nerveless the hand so loth to smite; So meek in rule, it leads, though dead, The people as in life it led. 

 O let his wise and guileless sway Win every recreant today, And sorrow's vast and holy wave Blend all our hearts around his grave! Let the faithful bondmen's tears, Let the traitor's craven fears, And the people's grief and pride, Plead against the parricide! Let us throng to pledge and pray O'er the patriot martyr's clay; Then, with solemn faith in right, That made him victor in the fight, Cling to the path he fearless trod, Still radiant with the smile of God. 

 Shroud the banner! rear the cross! Consecrate a nation's loss; Gaze on that majestic sleep; Stand beside the bier to weep; Lay the gentle son of toil Proudly in his native soil; Crowned with honor, to his rest Bear the prophet of the West. 

Lucy Larcom was born in Beverly, Mass. , in 1826. At the age of sevenyears she wrote stories and poems. She spent three years in school, then worked in the cotton mills. Some of her writings attracted theattention of Whittier, from whom she received encouragement. At theage of twenty she went to Illinois and there taught school for sometime, and for three years studied in Monticello Female Seminary. Shereturned to Massachusetts and during the war wrote many patrioticpoems. 

 TOLLING

 Tolling, tolling, tolling! All the bells of the land! Lo, the patriot martyr Taketh his journey grand! Travels into the ages, Bearing a hope how dear! Into life's unknown vistas, Liberty's great pioneer. 

 Tolling, tolling, tolling! See, they come as a cloud, Hearts of a mighty people, Bearing his pall and shroud; Lifting up, like a banner, Signals of loss and woe; Wonder of breathless nations, Moveth the solemn show. 

 Tolling, tolling, tolling! Was it, O man beloved, Was it thy funeral only Over the land that moved?

 [Illustration: ROTUNDA, CITY HALL, NEW YORK, N. Y. ]

The remains of President Lincoln lay in state in the City Hall, NewYork, from noon April 24 to noon April 25, 1865. Visitors wereadmitted to view the remains, passing through the Hall two abreast. Singing societies sang dirges in the rotunda the night through. 

Richard Storrs Willis was born in Boston, Massachusetts, February 10, 1819, was graduated at Yale in 1841, and adopted literature as hisprofession. He has published musical and other poems; has edited the_New York Musical World_ and _Once a Week_, and contributed also tocurrent literature. He wrote the following:

 REQUIEM OF LINCOLN

 Now wake the requiem's solemn moan, For him whose patriot task is done! A nation's heart stands still today With horror, o'er his martyred clay!

 O, God of Peace, repress the ire, Which fills our souls with vengeful fire! Vengeance is Thine--and sovereign might, Alone, can such a crime requite!

 Farewell, thou good and guileless heart! The manliest tears for thee must start! E'en those at times who blamed thee here, Now deeply sorrow o'er thy bier. 

 O, Jesus, grant him sweet repose, Who, like Thee, seemed to love his foes! Those foes, like Thine, their wrath to spend, Have slain their best, their firmest friend. 

 [Illustration: ST. JAMES HALL, BUFFALO, N. Y. ]

The funeral train bearing the remains of President Lincoln reachedBuffalo, New York, on Thursday morning, the 27th of April. The bodywas taken from the funeral car and borne by soldiers up to St. James'Hall, where it was placed under a crape canopy, extending from theceiling to the floor. The Buffalo St. Cecilia Society sang with deeppathos the dirge "Rest, Spirit, Rest, " the society then placed anelegantly formed harp, made of choice white flowers, at the head ofthe coffin, as a tribute from them to the honored dead. The publicwere admitted to view the remains, and the following day the remainsreached Cleveland, Ohio. 

James Nicoll Johnston was born in Ardee, County Donegal, Ireland. Whentwo years of age the family moved to Cashelmore, Sheephaven Bay, County Donegal. In 1847 they moved to America. He was then betweenfifteen and sixteen years of age. In 1848 they settled at Buffalo, New York, which has been his home until the present time. 

He has published two editions of _Donegal Memories_, also two editionsof _Donegal Memories and Other Poems_, and a volume of Buffalo versecollected by him under the title of _Poets and Poetry of Buffalo_. Heassisted in collections of Buffalo local literature, also devoted muchtime to the production of publications of a philanthropic nature. 

 REQUIEM

 Bear him to his Western home, Whence he came four years ago; Not beneath some Eastern dome, But where Freedom's airs may come, Where the prairie grasses grow, To the friends who loved him so, Take him to his quiet rest; Toll the bell and fire the gun; He who served his Country best, He whom millions loved and bless'd, Now has fame immortal won; Rack of brain and heart is done. 

 Shed thy tears, O April rain, O'er the tomb wherein he sleeps! Wash away the bloody stain! Drape the skies in grief, O rain! Lo! a nation with thee weeps, Grieving o'er her martyred slain. 

 To the people whence he came, Bear him gently back again, Greater his than victor's fame: His is now a sainted name; Never ruler had such gain-- Never people had such pain. 

 [Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

 Photograph taken in 1863 by Brady]

Oliver Wendell Holmes, born in Cambridge, Mass. , August 29, 1809. Tohim belongs the credit of saving the frigate Constitution fromdestruction, by a poem--_Aye, Tear the Battered Ensign Down_. He diedAugust 7, 1894. 

 SERVICES IN MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 (_City of Boston, June 1, 1865_)

 O Thou of soul and sense and breath, The ever-present Giver, Unto Thy mighty angel, death, All flesh Thou didst deliver; What most we cherish, we resign, For life and death alike are Thine, Who reignest Lord forever!

 Our hearts lie buried in the dust With him, so true and tender, The patriot's stay, the people's trust, The shield of the offender; Yet every murmuring voice is still, As, bowing to Thy sovereign will, Our best loved we surrender. 

 Dear Lord, with pitying eye behold This martyr generation, Which Thou, through trials manifold, Art showing Thy salvation! O let the blood by murder spilt Wash out Thy stricken children's guilt, And sanctify our Nation!

 Be Thou Thy orphaned Israel's friend, Forsake Thy people never, In one our broken many blend, That none again may sever! Hear us, O Father, while we raise With trembling lips our song of praise, And bless Thy name forever!

 [Illustration: LINCOLN HOMESTEAD, MAY 4, 1865

 Photographed by F. W. Ingmire on the day of the funeral, with the members of the National Committee appointed to accompany the remains to Springfield, Illinois. 

 Members on the pavement: Left (1) Hon. Schuyler Colfax, Speaker of the House; (2) Hon. R. C. Schenck, Ohio; (3) Hon. Lyman Trumbull, Illinois; (4) Hon. Charles E. Phelps, Maryland; (5) Hon. W. H. Wallace, Idaho; (6) Hon. Joseph Baily, Pennsylvania; (7) Hon. James K. Morehead, Pennsylvania; (8) Hon. Sidney Clarke, Kansas; (9) Hon. Samuel Hooper, Massachusetts; (10) Hon. E. B. Washburn, Illinois; (11) Hon. Thomas W. Ferry, Michigan; (12) Hon. Thomas B. Shannon, California; (13) S. G. Ordway, Sergeant-at-Arms of the House. 

 Members in the yard: Left (1) Hon. Isaac N. Arnold, Illinois; (2) Hon. John B. Henderson, Missouri; (3) Hen. Richard Yates, Illinois; (4) Hon. James W. Nye, Nevada; (5) Hon. Henry S. Lane, Indiana; (6) Hon. George H. Williams, Oregon; (7) Hon. George T. Brown, Sergeant-at-Arms of the Senate; (8) Hon. William A. Newell, New Jersey. ]

William Allen, D. D. , born 1784, died 1868. Graduated at Harvard, 1802. President Dartmouth College, 1816-1819, Bowdoin College, 1820-1839. Hewas the father of American Biography, published various volumes ofpoems; as a philologist, he contributed many thousands of words anddefinitions to Webster and Worcester's dictionaries. He was leader ofthe American delegation to the National Peace Congress at Versaillesin 1849. 

 SPRINGFIELD'S WELCOME TO LINCOLN

 Lincoln! thy country's father, hail! We bid thee welcome, but bewail; Welcome unto thy chosen home-- Triumphant, glorious, dost thou come. 

 Before the enemy struck the blow That laid thee in a moment low, God gave thy wish: It was to see Our Union safe, our country free. 

 A country where the gospel truth Shall reach the hearts of age and youth, And move unchained, in majesty, A model land of liberty!

 When Jacob's bones, from Egypt borne, Regained their home, the people mourn; Great mourning then at Ephron's cave, Both Abraham's and Isaac's grave. 

 Far greater is the mourning now; For our land one emblem wide of woe; And where thy coffin car appears Do not the people throng in tears?

 Thy triumph of a thousand miles, Like eastern conqueror with his spoils-- A million hearts thy captives led, All weeping for their chieftain dead. 

 Thy chariot, moved with eagle speed Without the aid of prancing steed, Has brought thee to that destined tomb; Springfield, thy home, will give thee room. 

 Lincoln, the martyr, welcome home! What lessons blossom on thy tomb! In God's pure truth and law delight; With firm, unwavering soul do right. 

 Be condescending, kind and just; In God's wise counsels put thy trust; Let no proud soul e'er dare rebel, Moved by vile passions sprung from hell. 

 Come, sleep with us in sweet repose, Till we, as Christ from death arose, Still in His glorious image rise To dwell with him beyond the skies. 

 [Illustration: STATE CAPITOL, ILLINOIS, 1865]

The body of the President lay in state in the Capitol, Springfield, Illinois--which was very richly draped--from May 3 to May 4, when itwas removed to Oak Ridge Cemetery. 

Lucy Hamilton Hooper, born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, January 20, 1835. In conjunction with Charles G. Leland she edited _Our DailyFare_, the daily chronicle of the Philadelphia Sanitary Fair in 1864. She was assistant editor of _Lippincott's Magazine_ from itsfoundation until she went to Europe in 1870. In 1874 she settled inParis and since has been correspondent for various journals in thiscountry. She has published _Poems, with Translations from the German_(Philadelphia, 1864), another volume of _Poems_ (1871); a translationof _Le Nabob_, by Alphonse Daudet (Boston, 1879); and _Under theTricolor_, a novel (Philadelphia, 1880). She died August 31, 1893. 

 LINCOLN

 There is a shadow on the sunny air, There is a darkness o'er the April day, We bow our heads beneath this awful cloud So sudden come, and not to pass away. 

 O the wild grief that sweeps across our land From frozen Maine to Californian shore! A people's tears, an orphaned nation's wail, For him the good, the great, who is no more. 

 The noblest brain that ever toiled for man, The kindest heart that ever thrilled a breast, The lofty soul unstained by soil of earth, Sent by a traitor to a martyr's rest. 

 And his last act (O gentle, kindly heart!) The noble prompting of unselfish grace. He would not disappoint the waiting crowd Who came to gaze upon his honored face. 

 O God, thy ways are just, and yet we find This dispensation hard to understand. Why must our Prophet's weary feet be stay'd Upon the borders of the Promised Land?

 He bore the heat, the burden of the day, The golden eventide he shall not see; He shall not see the old flag wave again Over a land united, saved, and free. 

 He loved his people, and he ever lent To all our griefs a sympathizing ear; Now for the first time in these four sad years The stricken nation wails--he does not hear. 

 O never wept a land a nobler Chief! Kind heart, strong hand, true soul--yet, while we weep Let us remember, e'en amid our tears, 'Tis God who gives to his beloved sleep. 

 So sleeps he now, the chosen man of God, No more shall care or sorrow wring his breast; The weary one and heavy laden, lies Hushed by the voice of God to endless rest. 

 We need no solemn knell, no tolling bells, No chanted dirge, no vain words sadly said. The saddest knell that ever stirred the air Rang in those words, "Our President is dead!"

 [Illustration: PUBLIC VAULT, OAK RIDGE CEMETERY, SPRINGFIELD, ILL. , On the day of Lincoln's funeral]

The remains of President Lincoln were deposited in this receivingvault of Oak Ridge Cemetery, Springfield, Illinois, on the 4th of May, 1865, where they remained until December 21, 1865, when they wereremoved to a temporary vault near the site of the public one. OnSeptember 19, 1871, the remains were removed to the monument which hadbeen erected and which stands on the top of the hill in that cemeteryback of the public vault. The remains of Mrs. Lincoln, Willie andThomas (Tad), are also resting there. 

 LET THE PRESIDENT SLEEP

 _By James M. Stewart_

 Let the President sleep! all his duty is done, He has lived for our glory, the triumph is won; At the close of the fight, like a warrior brave, He retires from the field to the rest of the grave. Hush the roll of the drum, hush the cannon's loud roar, He will guide us to peace through the battle no more; But new freedom shall dawn from the place of his rest, Where the star has gone down in the beautiful West. Tread lightly, breathe softly, and gratefully bring To the sod that enfolds him the first flowers of spring; They will tenderly treasure the tears that we weep O'er the grave of our chief--let the President sleep. 

 Let the President sleep--tears will hallow the ground, Where we raise o'er his ashes the sheltering mound, And his spirit will sometimes return from above, There to mingle with ours in ineffable love. Peace to thee, noble dead, thou hast battled for right, And hast won high reward from the Father of Light; Peace to thee, martyr-hero, and sweet be thy rest, Where the sunlight fades out in the beautiful West. Tread lightly, breathe softly, and gratefully bring To the sod that enfolds him the first flowers of spring; They will tenderly treasure the tears that we weep O'er the grave of our chief--let the President sleep!

 [Illustration: FACADE OF PUBLIC VAULT

 Oak Ridge Cemetery, Springfield, Illinois, in which the body of Lincoln was placed, May 4, 1865]

James Mackay, born in New York, April 8, 1872. Author of _The Economyof Happiness_, _The Politics of Utility_, and of various lectures onScientific Ethics, etc. 

 THE CENOTAPH OF LINCOLN

 And so they buried Lincoln? Strange and vain Has any creature thought of Lincoln hid In any vault 'neath any coffin lid, In all the years since that wild spring of pain? 'Tis false--he never in the grave hath lain. You could not bury him although you slid Upon his clay the Cheops Pyramid, Or heaped it with the Rocky Mountain chain. They slew themselves;--they but set Lincoln free. In all the earth his great heart beats as strong, Shall beat while pulses throb to chivalry, And burn with hate of tyranny and wrong. Whoever will may find him, anywhere Save in the tomb. Not there--he is not there. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN MONUMENT

 Springfield, Illinois, Larken G. Mead, Architect]

A movement was started shortly after the burial of Lincoln to raisefunds sufficient to build a monument over his grave. Contributionswere made by various States and societies, and about sixty thousandSunday-school scholars contributed the sum of eighteen thousanddollars. Ground was broken on the 9th of September, 1869, and themonument was dedicated on the 15th of October, 1874, at a total costof two hundred and thirty thousand dollars. 

James Judson Lord, born at Berwick, Maine, in 1821. He had theadvantage of an excellent early education followed by years ofresearch. During his preparatory studies at Cambridge he metLongfellow, who loaned him books from his own library. For a time hestudied art under prominent masters, but his health failing, after atime of forced leisure he went into the mercantile business in Boston, which vocation he afterward followed. In 1851 he went to Illinois;finally, after his marriage, settling in Springfield. There he knewMr. Lincoln, with whom he was on terms of closest friendship. 

The poem submitted by Mr. Lord was selected for reading at thededication of the National Lincoln Monument in a competition whichbrought contributions from many leading poets. 

He was the author of several dramas, and from time to time contributedpoems to leading magazines and newspapers of the country. He diedJanuary 3, 1905. 

 DEDICATION POEM

 _Read by Richard Edwards, LL. D. , President Illinois State Normal University at Bloomington, Illinois_

 We build not here a temple or a shrine, Nor hero-fane to demigods divine; Nor to the clouds a superstructure rear For man's ambition or for servile fear. Not to the Dust, but to the Deeds alone A grateful people raise th' historic stone; For where a patriot lived, or hero fell, The daisied turf would mark the spot as well. 

 What though the Pyramids, with apex high, Like Alpine peaks cleave Egypt's rainless sky, And cast grim shadows o'er a desert land Forever blighted by oppression's hand? No patriot zeal their deep foundations laid-- No freeman's hand their darken'd chambers made-- No public weal inspired the heart with love, To see their summits towering high above. The ruling Pharaoh, proud and gory-stained, With vain ambitions never yet attained;-- With brow enclouded as his marble throne, And heart unyielding as the building stone;-- Sought with the scourge to make mankind his slaves, And heaven's free sunlight darker than their graves. His but to will, and theirs to yield and feel, Like vermin'd dust beneath his iron heel;-- Denies all mercy, and all right offends, Till on his head th' avenging Plague descends. 

 Historic justice bids the nations know That through each land of slaves a Nile of blood shall flow: And Vendome Columns, on a people thrust, Are, by the people, level'd with the dust. 

 Nor stone, nor bronze, can fit memorials yield For deeds of valor on the bloody field, 'Neath war's dark clouds the sturdy volunteer, By freedom taught his country to revere, Bids home and friends a hasty, sad adieu, And treads where dangers all his steps pursue; Finds cold and famine on his dauntless way, And with mute patience brooks the long delay, Or hears the trumpet, or the thrilling drum Peal the long roll that calls: "They come! they come!" Then to the front with battling hosts he flies, And lives to triumph, or for freedom dies. Thund'ring amain along the rocky strand, The Ocean claims her honors with the Land. Loud on the gale she chimes the wild refrain, Or with low murmur wails her heroes slain! In gory hulks, with splinter'd mast and spar, Rocks on her stormy breast the valiant Tar:-- Lash'd to the mast he gives the high command, Or midst the fight, sinks with the _Cumberland_. 

 Beloved banner of the azure sky, Thy rightful home where'er thy eagles fly; On thy blue field the stars of heav'n descend, And to our day a purer luster lend. O, Righteous God! who guard'st the right alway, And bade Thy peace to come, "and come to stay": And while war's deluge fill'd the land with blood, With bow of promise arch'd the crimson flood, -- From fratricidal strife our banner screen, And let it float henceforth in skies serene. 

 Yet cunning art shall here her triumphs bring, And laurel'd bards their choicest anthems sing. Here, honor'd age shall bare its wintery brow, And youth to freedom make a Spartan vow. Here, ripened manhood from its walks profound, Shall come and halt, as if on hallow'd ground. 

 Here shall the urn with fragrant wreaths be drest, By tender hands the flow'ry tributes prest; And wending westward, from oppressions far, Shall pilgrims come, led by our freedom-star; While bending lowly, as o'er friendly pall, The silent tear from ebon cheeks shall fall. 

 Sterile and vain the tributes which we pay-- It is the Past that consecrates today The spot where rests one of the noble few Who saw the right, and dared the right to do. True to himself and to his fellow men, With patient hand he moved the potent pen, Whose inky stream did, like the Red Sea's flow, Such bondage break and such a host o'erthrow! The simple parchment on its fleeting page Bespeaks the import of the better age, -- When man, for man, no more shall forge the chain, Nor armies tread the shore, nor navies plow the main. Then shall this boon to human freedom given Be fitly deem'd a sacred gift of heaven;-- Though of the earth, it is no less divine, -- Founded on truth it will forever shine, Reflecting rays from heaven's unchanging plan-- The law of right and brotherhood of man. 

Edna Dean Proctor, born in Henniker, New Hampshire, October 10, 1838. She received her early education in Concord and subsequently removedto Brooklyn, New York. She contributed largely to magazine literatureand has traveled extensively abroad. Of all her poems _By theShenandoah_ is probably the most popular. 

 THE GRAVE OF LINCOLN

 Now must the storied Potomac Laurels forever divide; Now to the Sangamon fameless Give of its century's pride. Sangamon, stream of the prairies, Placidly westward that flows, Far in whose city of silence Calm he has sought his repose. Over our Washington's river Sunrise beams rosy and fair; Sunset on Sangamon fairer, -- Father and martyr lies there. 

 Break into blossom, O prairie! Snowy and golden and red; Peers of the Palestine lilies Heap for your Glorious Dead! Roses as fair as of Sharon, Branches as stately as palm, Odors as rich as the spices-- Cassia and aloes and balm-- Mary the loved and Salome, All with a gracious accord, Ere the first glow of the morning Brought to the tomb of the Lord. 

 Not for thy sheaves nor savannas Crown we thee, proud Illinois! Here in his grave is thy grandeur; Born of his sorrow thy joy. Only the tomb by Mount Zion, Hewn for the Lord, do we hold Dearer than his in thy prairies, Girdled with harvests of gold! Still for the world through the ages Wreathing with glory his brow, He shall be Liberty's Saviour; Freedom's Jerusalem thou!

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 In Lincoln Park, Washington, D. C. Thomas Ball, sculptor. ]

The first contribution of five dollars for the statue in Lincoln Park, Washington, D. C. , was made by a colored woman named Charlotte Scott, of Marietta, Ohio, the morning after the assassination of PresidentLincoln, and the entire cost of said monument, amounting to $17, 000, was paid by subscriptions of colored people. It was unveiled April 14, 1876. 

James Russell Lowell, born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, February 22, 1819. He received his degree in 1838, at Harvard, and his firstproduction was a class poem which was delivered on that date. He wassuccessor of Professor Longfellow in the chair of Modern Languages atHarvard College. In 1877 he was appointed by President Hayes to theSpanish Mission, from which he was transferred in 1880 to the Court ofSt. James. A long list of poetical works have been published to hiscredit. He died August 12, 1891. 

 COMMEMORATION ODE

 Life may be given in many ways, And loyalty to Truth be sealed As bravely in the closet as the field, So bountiful 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 measures of a stalwart man, Limbed like the old heroic breeds, Who stand 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 molds 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!

 His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind, Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind; Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined, Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. Nothing of Europe here, Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still, Ere any names of Serf or 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. 

 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 are all 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. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 By Leonard W. Volk]

Richard Henry Stoddard, born in Hingham, Massachusetts, July 2, 1825. His first book, entitled _Foot Prints_, was published in 1849, andsome three years after a more mature collection of poems waspublished. In later years a number of his books were published, all ofwhich have been received with approbation by the public. Died May 12, 1903. 

 AN HORATIAN ODE

 (_To Lincoln_)

 Not as when some great captain falls In battle, where his country calls, Beyond the struggling lines That push his dread designs

 To doom, by some stray ball struck dead: Or in the last charge, at the head Of his determined men, Who must be victors then!

 Nor as when sink the civic great, The safer pillars of the State, Whose calm, mature, wise words Suppress the need of swords!

 With no such tears as e'er were shed Above the noblest of our dead Do we today deplore The man that is no more. 

 Our sorrow hath a wider scope, Too strange for fear, too vast for hope, -- A wonder, blind and dumb, That waits--what is to come!

 Not more astonished had we been If madness, that dark night, unseen, Had in our chambers crept, And murdered while we slept!

 We woke to find a mourning earth-- Our Lares shivered on the hearth, -- To roof-tree fallen--all That could affright, appall!

 Such thunderbolts, in other lands, Have smitten the rod from royal hands, But spared, with us, till now, Each laureled Caesar's brow. 

 No Caesar he, whom we lament, A man without a precedent, Sent it would seem, to do His work--and perish too!

 Not by the weary cares of state, The endless tasks, which will not wait, Which, often done in vain, Must yet be done again;

 Not in the dark, wild tide of war, Which rose so high, and rolled so far, Sweeping from sea to sea In awful anarchy;--

 Four fateful years of mortal strife, Which slowly drained the Nation's life, (Yet, for each drop that ran There sprang an armed man!)

 Not then;--but when by measures meet-- By victory, and by defeat, By courage, patience, skill, The people's fixed "We will!"

 Had pierced, had crushed rebellion dead-- Without a hand, without a head:-- At last, when all was well, He fell--O, how he fell!

 Tyrants have fallen by such as thou, And good hath followed, --may it now! (God lets bad instruments Produce the best events. )

 But he, the man we mourn today, No tyrant was; so mild a sway In one such weight who bore Was never known before!

 _From "Poems of Richard Henry Stoddard"_ Copyright, 1880, by Charles Scribner's Sons. 

 [Illustration: "THE GOOD GRAY POET" (Walt Whitman)]

Walt Whitman, born in West Hills, Long Island, New York, May 31, 1819. He was educated in the public schools of Brooklyn and New York City. Learned the printing trade at which he worked during the summer andtaught school in winter. He made long pedestrian tours through theUnited States and even extended his tramps through Canada. His chiefwork, _Leaves of Grass_, is a series of poems through which he earnedthe praise of some and the abuse of others. He visited the army when abrother was wounded and remained afterward as a volunteer nurse. Died1892. 

 O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

 O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every wrack, 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 firm 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 where my Captain lies, Fallen, cold and dead. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 By Lott Flannery, in front of the Court House, Washington Unveiled April 16, 1868]

Henry de Garrs, of Sheffield, England, wrote these lines on theassassination of Abraham Lincoln in 1865. They were published inEngland in 1889, and later in America, in the _Century_. 

 ON THE ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLN

 What dreadful rumor, hurtling o'er the sea, Too monstrous for belief, assails our shore? Men pause and question, Can such foul crime be? Till lingering doubt may cling to hope no more. Not when great Caesar weltered in his gore, Nor since, in time, or circumstance, or place, Hath crime so shook the World's great heart before. O World! O World! of all thy records base, Time wears no fouler scar on his time-smitten face. 

 A king of men, inured to hardy toil, Rose truly royal up the steeps of life, Till Europe's monarchs seemed to dwarf the while Beneath his greatness--great when traitors rife Pierced deep his country's heart with treason-knife; But greatest when victorious he stood, Crowning with mercy freedom's greatest strife. The world saw the new light of godlike good Ere the assassin's hand shed his most precious blood. 

 Lament thy loss, sad sister of the West: Not one, but many nations with thee weep; Cherish thy martyr on thy wounded breast, And lay him with thy Washington to sleep. Earth holds no fitter sepulcher to keep His royal heart--one of thy kings to be Who reign even from the grave; whose scepters sweep More potent over human destiny Than all ambition's pride and power and majesty. 

 Yet, yet rejoice that thou hadst such a son; The mother of such a man should never sigh; Could longer life a nobler cause have won? Could longest age more gloriously die? Oh! lift thy heart, thy mind, thy soul on high With deep maternal pride, that from thy womb Came such a son to scourge hell's foulest lie Out of life's temple. Watchers by his tomb! He is not there, but risen: that grave is slavery's doom. 

 POETICAL TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 _By Emily J. Bugbee_

 There's a burden of grief on the breezes of Spring, And a song of regret from the bird on its wing; There's a pall on the sunshine and over the flowers, And a shadow of graves on these spirits of ours; For a star hath gone out from the night of our sky, On whose brightness we gazed as the war-cloud roll'd by; So tranquil, and steady, and clear were its beams, That they fell like a vision of peace on our dreams. 

 A heart that we knew had been true to our weal, And a hand that was steadily guiding the wheel; A name never tarnished by falsehood or wrong, That had dwelt in our hearts like a soul-stirring song. Ah! that pure, noble spirit has gone to its rest, And the true hand lies nerveless and cold on his breast; But the name and the memory--_these_ never will die, But grow brighter and dearer as ages go by. 

 Yet the tears of a Nation fall over the dead, Such tears as a Nation before never shed; For our cherished one fell by a dastardly hand, A martyr to truth and the cause of the land; And a sorrow has surged, like the waves to the shore, When the breath of the tempest is sweeping them o'er, And the heads of the lofty and lowly have bowed, As the shaft of the lightning sped out from the cloud. 

 Not gathered, like Washington, home to his rest, When the sun of his life was far down in the West; But stricken from earth in the midst of his years, With the Canaan in view, of his prayers and his tears. And the people, whose hearts in the wilderness failed, Sometimes, when the star of their promise had paled, Now, stand by his side on the mount of his fame, And yield him their hearts in a grateful acclaim. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 Muskegon, Michigan, Charles Niehaus, sculptor]

John Nichol, born at Montrose, Forfarshire, Scotland, September 8, 1833. He was a professor of English Literature at the University ofGlasgow (1861-1889), and did much to make American books popular inEngland. His numerous publications include: _Leaves_ (1854), verse;_Tables of European History, 200-1876 A. D. _ (1876); fourth edition(1888); _Byron in English Men of Letters series_; _AmericanLiterature, 1520-1880_ (1882). He was an ardent advocate of theNorthern cause during the Civil War, and visited the United States atthe close of the conflict. He died at London, England, October 11, 1894. 

 LINCOLN, 1865

 An end at last! The echoes of the war-- The weary war beyond the Western waves-- Die in the distance. Freedom's rising star Beacons above a hundred thousand graves;

 The graves of heroes who have won the fight, Who in the storming of the stubborn town Have rung the marriage peal of might and right, And scaled the cliffs and cast the dragon down. 

 Pæans of armies thrill across the sea, Till Europe answers--"Let the struggle cease. The bloody page is turned; the next may be For ways of pleasantness and paths of peace!"

 A golden morn--a dawn of better things-- The olive-branch--clasping of hands again-- A noble lesson read to conquered kings-- A sky that tempests had not scoured in vain. 

 This from America we hoped and him Who ruled her "in the spirit of his creed. " Does the hope last when all our eyes are dim, As history records her darkest deed?

 The pilot of his people through the strife, With his strong purpose turning scorn to praise, E'en at the close of battle reft of life And fair inheritance of quiet days. 

 Defeat and triumph found him calm and just, He showed how clemency should temper power, And, dying, left to future times in trust The memory of his brief victorious hour. 

 O'ermastered by the irony of fate, The last and greatest martyr of his cause; Slain like Achilles at the Scæan gate, He saw the end, and fixed "the purer laws. "

 May these endure and, as his work, attest The glory of his honest heart and hand-- The simplest, and the bravest, and the best-- The Moses and the Cromwell of his land. 

 Too late the pioneers of modern spite, Awe-stricken by the universal gloom, See his name lustrous in Death's sable night, And offer tardy tribute at his tomb. 

 But we who have been with him all the while, Who knew his worth, and loved him long ago, Rejoice that in the circuit of our isle There is at last no room for Lincoln's foe. 

 [Illustration: LINCOLN AND CABINET

 "The First Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation. " Painted by Frank B. Carpenter. 

 From left to right--Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War; Salmon P. Chase, Secretary of the Treasury; President Lincoln; Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy; William H. Seward, Secretary of State; J. P. Usher, Secretary of the Interior; Montgomery Blair, Postmaster-General; Edward Bates, Attorney-General]

Christopher Pearse Cranch, born in Alexandria, Virginia, March 8, 1813. Graduated at the school of Divinity, Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1835, but retired from the ministry in 1842 to devote himself toart. He studied in Italy in 1846-8, and lived and painted in 1853-63, and, returning to New York, was elected a member of the NationalAcademy in 1864. He was a graceful writer of both prose and verse. 

 LINCOLN

 But yesterday--the exulting nation's shout Swelled on the breeze of victory through our streets, But yesterday--our banners flaunted out Like flowers the south wind woos from their retreats; Flowers of the nation, blue, and white, and red, Waving from balcony, and spire, and mast; Which told us that war's wintry storm had fled, And spring was more than spring to us at last. 

 Today the nation's heart lies crushed and weak; Drooping and draped in black our banners stand. Too stunned to cry revenge, we scarce may speak The grief that chokes all utterance through the land. God is in all. With tears our eyes are dim, Yet strive through darkness to look to Him!

 No, not in vain he died--not all in vain, Our good, great President! This people's hands Are linked together in one mighty chain Drawn tighter still in triple-woven bands To crush the fiends in human masks, whose might We suffer, oh, too long! No league, nor truce Save men with men! The devils we must fight With fire! God wills it in this deed. This use We draw from the most impious murder done Since Calvary. Rise then, O Countrymen! Scatter these marsh-lights hopes of Union won Through pardoning clemency. Strike, strike again! Draw closer round the foe a girdling flame. We are stabbed whene'er we spare--strike in God's name!

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 Fairmount Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Randolph Rogers, sculptor. Unveiled November 26, 1869]

George Henry Boker, born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on the 6th dayof October, 1823. Graduated at Princeton in 1842, and afterwardstudied law. In the year 1847, after his return from an extended tourin Europe, he published _The Lessons of Life and Other Poems_. He alsoproduced a number of plays which were successfully produced upon thestage, both in England and America. During the War of the Rebellion hewrote a number of patriotic lyrics, collected and published in avolume under the title of _Poems of the War_. He has also writtenother poems and articles in prose which have received high praise. 

In the year 1871 he was appointed by President Grant as our UnitedStates Minister to Turkey, but in 1875 was transferred to the moreimportant Mission of Russia. 

 LINCOLN

 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 pæans from the sacred bells! Nor in your praises 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 passionate, 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 God's intent; No, something better, freeman, --President! A nature modeled on a higher plan, Lord of himself, an inborn gentleman!

 [Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 Photo by Brady, 1864]

Phoebe Cary was born near Cincinnati, Ohio, September 24, 1824. Heradvantages for education were somewhat better than those of her sisterAlice, whose almost inseparable companion she became at an early age. They were quite different, however, in temperament, in person and inmental constitution. Phoebe began to write verse at the age ofseventeen years, and one of her earliest poems, _Nearer Home_, beginning with "One sweetly solemn thought, " won her a world-widereputation. In the joint housekeeping in New York she took from choice(Alice being for many years an invalid) the larger share of dutiesupon herself, and hence found little opportunity for literary work. In society, however, she was brilliant, but at all times kindly. Shewrote a touching tribute to her sister's memory, published in the_Ladies' Repository_ a few days before her own death, which occurredat Newport, R. I. , July 31, 1871. In the volume of _Poems of Alice andPhoebe Cary_ (Philadelphia, 1850) but about one-third were written byPhoebe. Her independently published books are _Poems and Parodies_(1854), and _Poems of Faith, Hope and Love_ (1868). 

 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 Our sun hath gone down at the noonday, The heavens are black; And over the morning the shadows Of night-time are back. 

 Stop the proud boasting mouth of the cannon, Hush the mirth and the shout; God is God! and the ways of Jehovah Are past finding out. 

 Lo! the beautiful feet on the mountains, That yesterday stood; The white feet that came with glad tidings Are dabbled in blood. 

 The Nation that firmly was settling The crown on her head, Sits, like Rizpah, in sackcloth and ashes, And watches her dead. 

 Who is dead? who, unmoved by our wailing Is lying so low? O, my Land, stricken dumb in your anguish, Do you feel, do you know?

 Once this good man we mourn, overwearied, Worn, anxious, oppressed, Was going out from his audience chamber For a season to rest;

 Unheeding the thousands who waited To honor and greet, When the cry of a child smote upon him And turned back his feet. 

 "Three days hath a woman been waiting, " Said they, "patient and meek. " And he answered, "Whatever her errand, Let me hear; let her speak!"

 So she came, and stood trembling before him And pleaded her cause; Told him all; how her child's erring father Had broken the laws. 

 Humbly spake she: "I mourn for his folly, His weakness, his fall"; Proudly spake she: "he is not a TRAITOR, And I love him through all!"

 Then the great man, whose heart had been shaken By a little babe's cry; Answered soft, taking counsel of mercy, "This man shall not die!"

 Why, he heard from the dungeons, the rice-fields, The dark holds of ships; Every faint, feeble cry which oppression Smothered down on men's lips. 

 In her furnace, the centuries had welded Their fetter and chain; And like withes, in the hands of his purpose, He snapped them in twain. 

 Who can be what he was to the people; What he was to the State? Shall the ages bring to us another As good and as great?

 Our hearts with their anguish are broken, Our wet eyes are dim; For us is the loss and the sorrow, The triumph for him!

 For, ere this, face to face with his Father Our Martyr hath stood; Giving into his hand the white record With its great seal of blood!

 That the hand which reached out of the darkness Hath taken the whole? Yea, the arm and the head of the people-- The heart and the soul!

 And that heart, o'er whose dread awful silence A nation has wept; Was the truest, and gentlest, and sweetest A man ever kept!

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 By Augustus Saint Gaudens, in Lincoln Park, Chicago, Illinois]

On the 22nd of October, 1887, this statue by Saint Gaudens wasunveiled, Mr. Eli Bates donating $40, 000 for that purpose. There is avast oval of cut stone, thirty by sixty feet, the interior fashionedto form a classic bench, and the statue stands on a stone pedestal. The sculptor represents him as an orator, just risen from his chair, which is shown behind him, and waiting for the audience to becomequiet before beginning his speech. The attitude is that always assumedby Lincoln at the beginning--one hand behind him, and the othergrasping the lapel of his coat. He appears the very incarnation ofrugged grandeur which held the master mind of this age. 

Charles Graham Halpin (Miles O'Reilly) was born near Oldcastle, Countyof Meath, Ireland, November 20, 1829. Graduated from Trinity College, Dublin, in 1846. He entered the field of journalism as a professionand soon gained a reputation in England. Came to New York in 1852 andsecured employment with the _Herald_, was later connected with otherpapers. Enlisted in April, 1861, and became lieutenant of ColonelCorcoran's 69th Regiment, rising to the rank of brigadier-general. Hedied in New York City, August 3, 1868. 

 LINCOLN

 He filled the Nation's eyes and heart, An honored, loved, familiar name; So much a brother that his fame Seemed of our lives a common part. 

 His towering figure, sharp and spare, Was with such nervous tension strung, As if on each strained sinew swung The burden of a people's care. 

 His changing face, what pen can draw-- Pathetic, kindly, droll or stern; And with a glance so quick to learn The inmost truth of all he saw. 

 Pride found no place to spawn Her fancies in his busy mind. His worth, like health or air, could find No just appraisal till withdrawn. 

 He was his country's--not his own; He had no wish but for the weak, Nor for himself could think or feel, But as a laborer for her throne. 

 Her flag upon the heights of power-- Stainless and unassayed to place, To this one end his earnest face Was bent through every burdened hour. 

 . . . . . 

 But done the battle--won the strife; When torches light his vaulted tomb, Broad gems flash out and crowns illume The clay-cold brow undecked in life. 

 . . . . . 

 O, loved and lost! Thy patient toil Had robed our cause in victory's light; Our country stood redeemed and bright, With not a slave on all her soil. 

 'Mid peals of bells and cannon's bark, And shouting streets with flags abloom, Sped the shrill arrow of thy doom, And, in an instant, all was dark!

 . . . . . 

 A martyr to the cause of man, His blood is Freedom's Eucharist, And in the world's great hero list His name shall lead the van. 

 Yes! ranked on Faith's white wings unfurled In Heaven's pure light, of him we say, "He fell on the self-same day A Greater died to save the world. "

 [Illustration: TABLET AT PHILADELPHIA

 Unveiled February 21, 1903]

He who seeks the embodiment of the genius of the Union finds it in theapotheosis of the Great Emancipator. There, under the arching skies hestands, erect, serene, resplendent; beneath his feet the brokenshackles of a race redeemed; upon his brow the diadem of liberty withlaw, while around and behind him rise up, as an eternal guard ofhonor, the great army of the Republic. 

In the belief that from the martyr's bier as from the battlefield ofright it is but one step to paradise, may we not, on days like this, draw back the veil that separates from our mortal gaze the phantomsquadrons as they pass again in grand review before their "MartyrPresident. "--_From an address by Hiram F. Stevens, read before theMinnesota Commandery of the Loyal Legion. _

 THE MARTYR PRESIDENT

 In solid platoons of steel, Under heaven's triumphant arch, The long lines break and wheel, And the order is "Forward, March!" The colors ripple o'erhead, The drums roll up to the sky, And with martial time and tread The regiments all pass by-- The ranks of the faithful dead Meeting their president's eye. 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 has never known erstwhile, Never in time or space. Close 'round him, hearts of pride! Press near him, side by side! For he stands there not alone. For the holy right he died, And Christ, the crucified, Waits to welcome his own. 

 ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 _Written for the Lincoln Memorial Album, by Eugene J. Hall, 1882. _

 O honored name, revered and undecaying, Engraven on each heart, O soul sublime! That, like a planet through the heavens straying, Outlives the wreck of time!

 O rough, strong soul, your noble self-possession Is unforgotten. Still your work remains. You freed from bondage and from vile oppression A race in clanking chains. 

 O furrowed face, beloved by all the nation! O tall gaunt form, to memory fondly dear! O firm, bold hand, our strength and our salvation! O heart that knew no fear!

 Lincoln, your manhood shall survive forever, Shedding a fadeless halo round your name; Urging men on, with wise and strong endeavor, To bright and honest fame!

 Through years of care, to rest and joy a stranger, You saw complete the work you had begun, Thoughtless of threats, nor heeding death or danger, You toiled till all was done. 

 You freed the bondman from his iron master, You broke the strong and cruel chains he wore, You saved the Ship of State from foul disaster And brought her safe to shore. 

 You fell! An anxious nation's hopes seemed blighted, While millions shuddered at your dreadful fall; But _God is good_! His wondrous hand has righted And reunited all. 

 You fell, but in your death you were victorious; To moulder in the tomb your form has gone, While through the world your great soul grows more glorious As years go gliding on!

 All hail, great Chieftain! Long will sweetly cluster A thousand memories round your sacred name, Nor time, nor death shall dim the spotless luster That shines upon your fame. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 By Vinnie Ream, rotunda of the Capitol, Washington, D. C. ]

Samuel Francis Smith, clergyman, born in Boston, Massachusetts, October 21, 1808. Attended the Boston Latin School in 1820-5, and wasgraduated at Harvard in 1829 and at Andover Theological Seminary in1832. Was ordained to the ministry of the Baptist Church atWaterville, Maine, in 1834, where he occupied pastorates from 1834until 1842, and at Newton, Massachusetts, 1842 to 1854. Was professorof languages in Waterville College while residing in that city, andthere he also received the degree of D. D. In 1854. 

He has done a large amount of literary work, mainly in the line ofhymnology, his most popular composition being our national hymn, _MyCountry, 'Tis of Thee_, which was written while he was a theologicalstudent, and first sung at a children's celebration in the Park StreetChurch, Boston, July 4, 1832. _The Morning Light is Breaking_, wasalso written at the same place and time. His classmate, Oliver WendellHolmes, in his reunion poem entitled _The Boys_, thus refers to him:

 "And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith; Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith! But he chanted a song for the brave and the free-- Just read on his medal, 'My Country, of Thee!'"

 The following poem was written expressly for the exercises held on the Nineteenth Anniversary of President Lincoln's death, at his tomb, Springfield, Illinois, April 15, 1884. 

 THE TOMB OF LINCOLN

 Grandeur and glory await around the bed Where sleeps in lowly peace the illustrious dead; He rose a meteor, upon wondering men, But rose in strength, never to set again. A king of men, though born in lowly state, A man sincerely good and nobly great; Tender, but firm; faithful and kind, and true, The Nation's choice, the Nation's Saviour, too; When Liberty and Truth shall reign for evermore, From Oregon to Florida's perpetual May, From Shasta's awful peak to Massachusetts Bay, -- Then our children's children, by the cottage door, In the schoolroom, from the pulpit, at the bar, Shall look up to thee as to a beacon star, And deduce the lesson from thy life and death, That the patriot's lofty courage and the Christian's faith Conquer honors that outweigh ambition's gaudiest prize, Triumph o'er the grave, and open the gates of Paradise. 

 Schooled through life's early hardships to endure, To raise the oppressed, to save and shield the poor; Prudent in counsel, honest in debate, Patient to hear and judge, patient to wait; The calm, the wise, the witty and the proved, Whom millions honored, and whom millions loved; Swayed by no baleful lust of pride or power, The shining pageants of the passing hour, Led by no scheming arts, no selfish aim, Ambitious for no pomp, nor wealth, nor fame, No planning hypocrite, no pliant tool, A high-born patriot, of Heaven's noblest school; Cool and unshaken in the maddest storm, For in the clouds he traced the Almighty's form; Worn with the weary heart and aching head, Worse than the picket, with his ceaseless tread, He kept--as bound by some resistless fate-- His broad, strong hand upon the helm of State; Nor turned, in fear, his heart or hope away, Till on the field his tent a ruin lay. His tent, a ruin; but the owner's name Stands on the pinnacle of human fame, Inscribed in lines of light, and nations see, Through him, the people's life and liberty. 

 What high ideas, what noble acts he taught! To make men free in life, and limb, and thought, To rise, to soar, to scorn the oppressor's rod, To live in grander life, to live for God; To stand for justice, freedom and the right, To dare the conflict, strong in God's own might; The methods taught by Him, by him were tried, And he, to conscience true, a martyr died. 

 As the great sun pursues his heavenly way And fills with life and joy the livelong day, Till, the full journey, in glory dressed, He seeks his crimson couch beneath the west; So, with his labor done, our hero sleeps; Above his tomb a ransomed Nation weeps; And grateful pæans o'er his ashes rise-- Dear is his fame--his glory never dies. 

 Bring flowers, fresh flowers, bring plumes with nodding crests, To wreath the tomb where our great hero rests; Bring pipe and tabret, eloquence and song, And sound the loving tribute, loud and long; A Nation bows, and mourns his honored name, A Nation proudly keeps his deathless fame; Let vale and rock, and hill, and land, and sea His memory swell--the anthem of the free. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

 On the State Capitol Grounds at Lincoln, Nebraska. Unveiled September 2, 1912. Daniel Chester French, sculptor]

John Townsend Trowbridge, born September 18, 1827, in Ogden, New York. He lived the ordinary life of a country boy, going to school sixmonths in the year till he was fourteen, after which he had to work onthe farm in summer. His books had more interest to him than his work, and he managed to learn more out of school than in it. At sixteen hewrote articles in verse and prose for magazines and journals. He was acontributor to the _Atlantic Monthly_. 

During the great rebellion, he wrote several stories of the war: _TheDrummer Boy_, 1863, and _The Three Scouts_, 1865. On the return ofpeace he spent some four months in the principal southern States, forthe purpose of gaining accurate views of the condition of societythere after the war. He published the result of these observationsJune, 1866, in a volume entitled, _The South_. A collected edition ofhis poems was published in 1869, entitled _The Vagabonds, and OtherPoems_. 

 LINCOLN

 Heroic soul, in homely garb half hid, Sincere, sagacious, melancholy, quaint; What he endured, no less than what he did, Has reared his monument, and crowned him saint. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 Burlington, Wisconsin. George E. Ganiere, sculptor Unveiled October 13, 1913]

Kinahan Cornwallis was born in London, England, December 24, 1839. Entered British Colonial Civil Service; two years at Melbourne, Australia. Located in New York in 1860, one of the editors andcorrespondent of the _Herald_. Accompanied the Prince of Wales on hisAmerican tour. Admitted to the New York bar in 1863; financial editorand general editorial writer of _New York Herald_, 1860-69. Editor andproprietor of _The Knickerbocker Magazine_, afterward of _The Albion_. Since 1886 editor and proprietor _Wall Street Daily Investigator_, now_Wall Street Daily Investor_. Author of _Howard Plunkett_ (a novel);an Australian poem, 1857. The _New Eldorado, or British Columbia_(Travels); _Two Journeys to Japan_; _A Panorama of the New World_;_Wreck and Ruin, or Modern Society_ (novel); _My Life and Adventures_(story), 1859, also of many other histories and novels. Among his poetproductions are _The Song of America and Columbus_, 1892; _TheConquest of Mexico and Peru_, 1893; _The War for the Union, or theDuel Between North and South_, 1899. 

 HOMAGE DUE TO LINCOLN

 Well may we all to Lincoln homage pay, For patriotic duty points the way, And tells the story of the debt we owe-- A debt of gratitude that all should know; And ne'er will perish that historic tale. To him, the Union's great defender, hail! Through battling years he steered the ship of state, And ever proved a captain just and great. Through storm and tempest, and unnumbered woes, While oft assailed in fury by his foes, He held his course, and triumphed over all, Responding ever to his country's call; And more divine than human seemed the deed When he the slave from hellish bondage freed, And from the South its human chattels tore. 'Twas his to Man his manhood to restore. That righteous action sealed rebellion's doom, And paved secession's pathway to the tomb. But, lo! when Peace with Union glory, came, And all the country rang with his acclaim-- A reunited country, great and strong-- A foul assassin marked him for his prey; A bullet sped, and Lincoln dying lay. Alas! Alas! that he should thus have died-- His country's leader, and his country's pride! No deed more infamous than this-- No fate more cruel and unjust than his-- Can in the annals of the world be found. The Nation shuddered in its grief profound, And mourning emblems draped the country o'er Alas! Alas! its leader was no more! But still he lives in his immortal fame, And evermore will Glory gild his name, And keep his memory in eternal view, And o'er his grave unfading garlands strew. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 At Edinburgh, Scotland, George E. Bissell, sculptor]

It is within an inclosed cemetery, known as the Calton burying ground, which is separated from the Calton Hill by a wide thoroughfare. Thestatue is the work of an American sculptor, George E. Bissell. It is afine bronze figure, and rests on a massive granite pedestal. Thefigure at the base is that of a freed negro holding up a wreath. Onone face of the pedestal are Lincoln's words, "To preserve the jewelof liberty in the framework of freedom. " The statue is a memorial notalone to Lincoln; the legend on the pedestal tells that this plot ofground was given by the lord provost and town council of Edinburgh toWallace Bruce, United States Consul, and dedicated as a burial placefor Scottish soldiers of the American Civil War, 1861-65. Cut in thegranite are the names and records of Scots who fought to preserve theUnion, and who have found their last resting place in this old buryingground at the Scottish capital. 

David K. Watson was born near London, Madison County, Ohio, June 18, 1849. Moved to Columbus, Ohio, in 1875, where he now resides. WasAssistant United States District Attorney for the Southern District ofOhio from 1881 to 1885. Elected Attorney-General of Ohio in 1887 andre-elected in 1889. Member of the fifty-fourth Congress. Was member ofthe Commission to revise the Federal Statutes. Author of _History ofAmerican Coinage_ and _Watson on the Constitution of the UnitedStates_. 

 THE SCOTLAND STATUE

 O Scotland! It was a gracious act in thee To build a monument beside the sea To Lincoln, who wrote the word, And slavery's shackles fell From off a race Which ne'er before could tell What freedom was. To Lincoln, whose soul was great enough to know That beings born in likeness of their God Were meant to live as freemen, Not as slaves, and ruled by slavery's rod. To Lincoln, who more than any of his race Uplifted men and women to the place God made for them. To Lincoln, who never saw your land, And in whose veins no Scottish blood had run; But yet, because of deeds which he had done, His mighty name Had filled the world with fame And taught the people of each land That in God's hand Is held the destiny of races and of man. 

 Immortal patriot! through the mist of years That in the future are to come, -- When we who saw thee here are gone, -- We view thy heaven-aspiring tomb Illumined by the roseate dawn Of the millennial day, When Peace shall hold her sway, And bring Saturnian eras; when the roar O' the battle's thunder shall be heard no more. 

 [Illustration: STATUE OF LINCOLN

 At Newark, N. J. Gutzon Borglum, sculptor]

The statue was unveiled May 30, 1911. It is the gift of Amos H. VanHorn, who died December 26, 1908. In his will he set aside $25, 000 fora memorial to Abraham Lincoln, to be dedicated in memory of LincolnPost, No. 11, Department of New Jersey, G. A. R. , of which he was acharter member. 

Joseph Fulford Folsom, Presbyterian clergyman, miscellaneous writerand local historian, is a native of Bloomfield, New Jersey. He is adirect descendant of John Folsom who arrived at Boston in the Diligenton August 10, 1638, and settled at Hingham, Massachusetts. 

Mr. Folsom is the pastor of the Third Presbyterian Church, South, ofNewark, New Jersey. He has served two terms as Chaplain General of theOrder of the Founders and Patriots of America. Is Librarian andRecording Secretary of the New Jersey Historical Society. Edited andwrote three chapters of _Bloomfield, Old and New_, a history of thattown published in 1912. Wrote the history of the churches of Newark, including the _History of Newark, New Jersey_, published in 1913. Hispoem, _The Ballad of Daniel Bray_, is found in the _Patriotic Poems ofNew Jersey_. He is an occasional writer of poems, and contributesregularly a column of historical matters, signed "The Lorist. "

 THE UNFINISHED WORK

 The crowd was gone, and to the side Of Borglum's Lincoln, deep in awe, I crept. It seem'd a mighty tide Within those aching eyes I saw. 

 "Great heart, " I said, "why grieve alway? The battle's ended and the shout Shall ring forever and a day, -- Why sorrow yet, or darkly doubt?"

 "Freedom, " I plead, "so nobly won For all mankind, and equal right, Shall with the ages travel on Till time shall cease, and day be night. "

 No answer--then; but up the slope, With broken gait, and hands in clench, A toiler came, bereft of hope, And sank beside him on the bench. 

 [Illustration: CHILDREN ON THE BORGLUM STATUE]

Wendell Phillips Stafford, son of Frank and Sarah (Noyes) Stafford, born at Barre, Vermont, May 1, 1861. Educated at Barre Academy and St. Johnsbury Academy. Studied law and attended Boston University LawSchool, graduating therefrom in 1883. Admitted to the bar in 1883. Practiced law in St. Johnsbury until 1900. Was then appointed to theSupreme Court of Vermont. Appointed to the Supreme Court of theDistrict of Columbia in 1904, which position he still holds. 

Married February 24, 1886, to Miss Florence Sinclair Goss of St. Johnsbury. Has contributed to the _Atlantic Monthly_ and othermagazines. Publications: _North Flowers_ (poems), 1902; _Dorian Days_(poems), 1909; _Speeches_, 1913. 

 ONE OF OUR PRESIDENTS

 (_See page 80_)

 He sits there on the low, rude, backless bench, With his tall hat beside him, and one arm Flung, thus, across his knee. The other hand Rests, flat, palm downward, by him on the seat. So Æsop may have sat; so Lincoln did. For all the sadness in the sunken eyes, For all the kingship in the uncrowned brow, The great form leans so friendly, father-like, It is a call to children. I have watched Eight at a time swarming upon him there, All clinging to him--riding upon his knees, Cuddling between his arms, clasping his neck, Perched on his shoulders, even on his head; And one small, play-stained hand I saw reached up And laid most softly on the kind bronze lips As if it claimed them. These were the children Of foreigners we call them, but not so They call themselves; for when we asked of one, A restless dark-eyed girl, who this man was, She answered straight, "One of our Presidents. "

 "Let all the winds of hell blow in our sails, " I thought, "thank God, thank God the ship rides true!"

 [Illustration: HEAD OF LINCOLN

 This medal was struck for the Grand Army of the Republic in commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln]

Frank Dempster Sherman, son of John Dempster and Lucy (McFarland)Sherman, was born May 6, 1860, at Peekskill, New York; educated athome and at Columbia and Howard Universities, and since 1886 connectedwith Columbia University where he is Professor of Graphics. Author ofseveral volumes of poems which are published by Houghton-MifflinCompany, Boston. 

Professor Sherman married, November 16, 1887, Juliet Durand, daughterof Rev. Cyrus Bervic and Sarah Elizabeth (Merserveau) Durand. 

He is a member of the National Institute of Arts and Letters. 

 ON A BRONZE MEDAL OF LINCOLN

 This bronze our Lincoln's noble head doth bear, Behold the strength and splendor of that face, So homely-beautiful, with just a trace Of humor lightening its look of care, With bronze indeed his memory doth share, This martyr who found freedom for a Race; Both shall endure beyond the time and place That knew them first, and brighter grow with wear. Happy must be the genius here that wrought These features of the great American Whose fame lends so much glory to our past-- Happy to know the inspiration caught From this most human and heroic man Lives here to honor him while Art shall last. 

 [Illustration: MARBLE HEAD OF LINCOLN

 In Statuary Hall, Capitol in Washington, Gutzon Borglum, sculptor]

Ella Wheeler [Wilcox] was born in Johnstown Centre, Wisconsin, in1845. Was educated at the public schools at Windsor and at theUniversity of Wisconsin. In 1884 she married Robert M. Wilcox. Contributed articles for newspapers at an early age and also wrote andpublished a number of books of poems. 

 THE GLORY THAT SLUMBERED IN THE GRANITE ROCK

 A granite rock on the mountain side Gazed on the world and was satisfied; It watched the centuries come and go-- It welcomed the sunlight, and loved the snow, It grieved when the forest was forced to fall, But smiled when the steeples rose, white and tall, In the valley below it, and thrilled to hear The voice of the great town roaring near. 

 When the mountain stream from its idle play Was caught by the mill-wheel, and borne away And trained to labor, the gray rock mused: "Tree and verdure and stream are used By man, the master, but I remain Friend of the Mountain, and Star, and Plain; Unchanged forever, by God's decree, While passing centuries bow to me!"

 Then, all unwarned, with a heavy shock Down from the mountain was wrenched the rock. Bruised and battered and broken in heart, He was carried away to a common mart. Wrecked and ruined in peace and pride, "Oh, God is cruel!" the granite cried; "Comrade of Mountain, of Star the friend-- By all deserted--how sad my end!"

 A dreaming sculptor, in passing by, Gazed on the granite with thoughtful eye; Then, stirred with a purpose supreme and grand, He bade his dream in the rock expand-- And lo! from the broken and shapeless mass, That grieved and doubted, it came to pass That a glorious statue, of infinite worth-- A statue of LINCOLN--adorned the earth. 

 [Illustration: THE LINCOLN BOULDER

 At Nyack, N. Y. ]

This boulder had been for two hundred and fifty years a landmark nearthe Western shore of the Hudson River, opposite Upper Nyack. Theschool children of Nyack contributed the funds to remove it from itsancient bed and place it in front of the Nyack Carnegie Library, whereit now stands and probably will stand for thousands of years to come, a monument to the memory of Abraham Lincoln. 

The boulder contains the Gettysburg address and was dedicated June 13, 1908. 

Louis Bradford Couch, born at East Lee, Massachusetts, October 1, 1851. Son of Bradford Milton and Lucy L. Couch. Educated in the publicschools of Northampton, Massachusetts. Began the study of medicine in1871, graduating with honors from the New York Homeopathic MedicalCollege, March 4, 1874, being awarded the Allen gold medal for thebest original investigations in medicine; he was graduated from theNew York Ophthalmic Hospital, the same year, as an eye and earsurgeon. Practiced medicine for thirty-nine years at Nyack, New York. Served three years as one of the medical experts on the New York StateBoard of Health. 

 THE LINCOLN BOULDER

 O Mighty Boulder, wrought by God's own hand, Throughout all future ages thou shalt stand A monument of honor to the brave Who yielded up their lives, their all, to save Our glorious country, and to make it free From bondsmen's tears and lash of slavery. 

 Securely welded to thy rugged breast, Through all the coming ages there shall rest Our Lincoln's tribute to a patriot band, The noblest ever penned by human hand. 

 The storms of centuries may lash and beat The granite face and bronze with hail and sleet; But futile all their fury. In a day The loyal sun will melt them all away. 

 Equal in death our gallant heroes sleep In Southern trench, home grave, or ocean deep; Equal in glory, fadeless as the light The stars send down upon them through the night. O priceless heritage for us to keep Our heroes' fame immortal while they sleep!

 . . . . . 

 O God still guide us with thy loving hand, Keep and protect our glorious Fatherland. 

 [Illustration: BAS-RELIEF HEAD OF LINCOLN

 James W. Tuft, Boston]

James Arthur Edgerton, born at Plantsville, Ohio, January 30, 1869. Graduated at the Normal University, Lebanon, Ohio, in 1887. One year'spost-graduate work, Marietta, Ohio, College. Editor county and statepapers several years; on editorial staff of _Denver News_, 1899-1903;American Press Association, New York, 1904; _Watson's Magazine_, 1905. Editorial writer _New York American_, 1907; Secretary State LaborBureau of Nebraska, 1895-9; received party vote for clerk UnitedStates House of Representatives. Author, _Poems_, 1889; _A BetterDay_, 1890; _Populist Hand-book for 1894_; _Populist Hand-book forNebraska_, 1895; _Voices of the Morning_, 1898; _Songs of the People_, 1902; _Glimpses of the Real_, 1903; _In the Gardens of God_, 1904. 

 WHEN LINCOLN DIED

 When Lincoln died a universal grief Went round the earth. Men loved him in that hour. The North her leader lost, the South her friend; The nation lost its savior, and the slave Lost his deliverer, the most of all. Oh, there was sorrow mid the humble poor When Lincoln died!

 When Lincoln died a great soul passed from earth, A great white soul, as tender as a child And yet as iron willed as Hercules. In him were strength and gentleness so mixed That each upheld the other. He possessed The patient firmness of a loving heart. In power he out-kinged emperors, and yet His mercy was as boundless as his power. And he was jovial, laughter loving; still His heart was ever torn with suffering. There was divine compassion in the man, A godlike love and pity for his race. The world saw the full measure of that love When Lincoln died. 

 When Lincoln died a type was lost to men. The earth has had her conquerors and kings And many of the common great. Through all She only had one Lincoln. There is none Like him in all the annals of the past. He was a growth of our new soil, a child Of our new time, a symbol of the race That freedom breeds; was of the lowest rank, And yet he scaled the highest height. Mankind one of its few immortals lost When Lincoln died. 

 When Lincoln died it seemed a providence, For he appeared as one sent for a work Whom, when that work was done, God summoned home. He led a splendid fight for liberty, And when the shackles fell the land was saved; He laid his armor by and sought his rest. A glory sent from heaven covered him When Lincoln died. 

 [Illustration: A STUDY OF LINCOLN

 From painting by Blendon Campbell]

Amos Russell Wells was born at Glens Falls, New York, December 23, 1862. His mother removed to Yellow Springs, Ohio, when he was fouryears old, and he received his education at the public school there, afterward studying at Antioch College of that town, a college madeillustrious by its first President, Horace Mann, who died there. Graduated in 1883, all by himself, later receiving as Master of Arts, also LL. D. He taught for a year in a country district school, thenentered the faculty of his Alma Mater, where he was a tutor for nineyears. Was professor of Greek, Geology and Astronomy. He joined theChristian Endeavor Society in 1888, and by it was led to become amember of the Presbyterian Church at Yellow Springs. When but a boy hebegan to write, and edited numerous journals. Later edited an amateurpaper, also a town paper. His first paid contribution was a poemaccepted in 1881 by _The Christian Union_, now _The Outlook_. Wrotearticles often for _The Golden Rule_, now _The Christian EndeavorWorld_, and for the _Sunday School Times_. 

In December, 1891, he went to Boston and became managing editor of_The Golden Rule_, a position which he still holds. Since then thepaper has changed its name and three other papers added--_The JuniorChristian Endeavor World_, _Junior Work_ and _Union Work_, all editedby Mr. Wells. He is also Editorial Secretary of the United Society ofChristian Endeavor and in editorial charge of all its publications. 

Mr. Wells' first book, then entitled _Golden Rule Meditations_, butnow _The Upward Look_, was published in 1893. Since then every yearhas seen from one to ten additions to his list of productions untilthey now number fifty-eight volumes in all. He is a director of theUnion Rescue Mission and of the Chinese Mission of Boston. Is a memberof the American Sunday-School Lesson Committee, an important part ofhis work being his association with Dr. F. N. Peloubet in writing thewell-known _Select Notes_ on the International Sunday-School Lessons. 

 HAD LINCOLN LIVED

 Had Lincoln lived, How would his hand, so gentle yet so strong, Have closed the gaping wounds of ancient wrong; How would his merry jests, the way he smiled, Our sundered hearts to union have beguiled; How would the South from his just rule have learned That enemies to neighbors may be turned, And how the North, with his sagacious art, Have learned the power of a trusting heart; What follies had been spared us, and what stain, What seeds of bitterness that still remain, Had Lincoln lived!

 With Lincoln dead, Ten million men in substitute for one Must do the noble deeds he would have done: Must lift the freedman with discerning care, Nor house him in a castle of the air; Must join the North and South in every good, Fused in co-operating brotherhood; Must banish enmity with his good cheer, And slay with sunshine every rising fear; Like him to dare, and trust, and sacrifice, Ten million lesser Lincolns must arise, With Lincoln dead. 

 [Illustration: THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL

 Henry Bacon, Architect]

The Lincoln Memorial will be the costliest monument to the memory ofone man ever reared by a republic. The Capitol, at one end of thegreat parkway stretching from Capitol Hill to the Potomac, is amonument to the Government; the Lincoln Memorial, at the other end ofthat parkway, is a monument to the savior of that Government; and theWashington Monument, standing between, is a monument to its founder. The memorial will stand on a broad terrace 45 feet above grade. Thecolonnade will be 188 feet long and 118 feet wide, and will contain 36columns, 44 feet high and 7 feet 5 inches in diameter at the base. Within the interior of the structure will be three halls. In thecentral hall, which will be 60 feet wide, 70 long, and 60 high, therewill be a noble statue of Lincoln, while in the two side halls will bebronze tablets containing the Great Emancipator's second inauguraladdress and his Gettysburg speech. The George A. Fuller Company ofWashington are the builders of the Memorial, which will be completedin 1917. 

Samuel Green Wheeler Benjamin, born at Argos, Greece, February 13, 1837. Was United States Minister to Persia (1883-1885). AssistantLibrarian in the New York State Library. In 1861-1864 sent twocompanies of cavalry to the war. Served in war hospitals, studied art. Art editor of American Department _Magazine of Art_, also of the _NewYork Mail_. Marine painter and illustrator. Among his numerous worksin prose and verse are _Art in America_, _Contemporary Art in Europe_(1877); _Constantinople_ (1860); _Persia and the Persians_ (1866);_The Choice of Paris_ (1870), a romance; _Sea Spray_ (1887), a bookfor yachtsmen, etc. 

 LET HIS MONUMENT ARISE

 Let his monument arise, Pointing upward to the skies, Founded by a nation's heart, Grandly shaped in every part By the master-minds of art, And consecrated by a nation's tears, To teach throughout the after-time, To every tribe, in every clime, That toil for others is sublime. 

INDEX

 ALLEN, LYMAN WHITNEY: sketch of, 80; poem, "Lincoln's Church in Washington, " by, 81. 

 ALLEN, WILLIAM: sketch of, 173; poem, "Springfield's Welcome to Lincoln, " by, 173. 

 ANTIETAM, LINCOLN AT: photograph, 115. 

 "ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLN, ON THE": poem by Henry De Garrs, 200. 

 B

 BACHE, ANNA: poem, "Lincoln at Springfield, 1861, " by, 65, 66. 

 BACON, HENRY, architect: Lincoln Memorial at Washington, by, 252. 

 BALL, THOMAS, sculptor: "Emancipation Group" in Boston by, 90; in Washington by, 188. 

 BATES, EDWARD, Attorney-General: portrait of, in "Lincoln and Cabinet, " 206. 

 BAXTER, JAMES PHINNEY: sketch of 22; poem, "The Natal Day of Lincoln, " by, 22. 

 BECKER, CHARLOTTE: sketch of, 61; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 61. 

 BENJAMIN, SAMUEL GREEN WHEELER: sketch of, 253; poem, "Let His Monument Arise, " by, 253. 

 BIBLE, THE: Lincoln's fondness for xvi, xxiii. 

 "BIRTH OF LINCOLN, THE": poem by George W. Crofts, 19. 

 BISSELL, GEORGE E. , sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 231. 

 BLAIR, MONTGOMERY, Postmaster-General: portrait of, in "Lincoln and Cabinet, " 206. 

 BOKER, GEORGE HENRY: sketch of 208; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 209. 

 BOOTH, EDWIN: Lincoln discusses his _Hamlet_, xvii-xix. 

 BOOTH, J. WILKES: assassin of Lincoln, 138. 

 BORGLUM, GUTZON, sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 234, 236; marble head of Lincoln by, 240. 

 BOSTON: statue of Lincoln in, by Thomas Ball, 90. 

 "BOY LINCOLN, THE": picture by Eastman Johnson, 30. 

 BRADY, Washington photographer: portraits of Lincoln by, _frontispiece_, 20, 86, 93, 97, 103, 106, 108, 122, 124, 128, 134, 170, 210. 

 "BRONZE MEDAL OF LINCOLN, ON A": poem by Frank Dempster Sherman, 239. 

 BROWN, STUART: owner of Lincoln portrait, 82. 

 BROWN, THERON; sketch of, 94; poem, "The Liberator, " by, 94. 

 BROWNE, CHARLES F. , see WARD, ARTEMUS. 

 BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN: sketch of, 161; poem, "The Death of Lincoln, " by, 161. 

 BUFFALO, N. Y. : Lincoln's obsequies at, 168. 

 BUGBEE, EMILY J. : "Poetical Tribute to the Memory of Abraham Lincoln, " by, 201. 

 BURLEIGH, WILLIAM HENRY: sketch of, 53; poem, "Presidential Campaign, 1860, " by, 53. 

 BURLINGTON, WIS. : statue of Lincoln in, by Ganiere, 228. 

 "BUT HERE'S AN OBJECT MORE OF DREAD": poem by Lincoln, viii. 

 C

 CABIN, LOG, Lincoln's birthplace: picture, 13. 

 CABIN OF LINCOLN'S PARENTS: picture, 62; description, 63. 

 CAMPBELL, BLENDON, artist: "A Study of Lincoln" by, 249. 

 CAPITOL AT WASHINGTON, THE: description of, 72; picture of, 73. 

 CARPENTER, FRANK B. , painter of "First Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation, " xvii, 206; his account of Lincoln as a dramatic critic, xvii. 

 CARR, CLARENCE E. : sketch of, 20; poem, "Mendelssohn, Darwin, Lincoln, " by, 21. 

 CARY, ALICE: sketch of, 130; poem, "Abraham Lincoln, " by, 131. 

 CARY, PHOEBE, sketch of, 210; poem, "Abraham Lincoln, " by, 211. 

 CASSIDY, THOMAS F. : tribute of, to the mother of Lincoln, 25. 

 CAWEIN, MADISON: sketch of, 56; poem, "Lincoln, 1809--February 12, 1909, " by, 56. 

 "CENOTAPH OF LINCOLN, THE": poem by James Mackay, 181. 

 CHAPPLE, BENNETT: poem, "The Great Oak, " by, 15. 

 "CHARACTERIZATION OF LINCOLN, A": poem by Hamilton Schuyler, 87. 

 CHASE, SALMON P. , Secretary of the Treasury: portrait of, in "Lincoln and Cabinet, " 206. 

 CHENEY, JOHN VANCE: sketch of, 76; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 77. 

 CHICAGO: statue of Lincoln in, by Saint Gaudens, 214. 

 "CHILDREN ON THE BORGLUM STATUE": picture, 236. 

 CHOATE, ISAAC BASSETT: sketch of, 59; poem, "The Matchless Lincoln, " by, 59. 

 CITY HALL, NEW YORK, N. Y. : picture and description of, at time of Lincoln obsequies, 162, 166. 

 CLAY, HENRY: Lincoln's regard for, vi; his eulogy of, xv. 

 CLENDENIN, HENRY WILSON: sketch of, 70; poem, "Lincoln Called to the Presidency, " by, 70. 

 COOKE, ROSE TERRY: sketch of, 132; poem, "Abraham Lincoln, " by, 133. 

 COOPER UNION SPEECH, by Lincoln; reference to, xii. 

 CORNWALLIS, KINAHAN: sketch of, 229; poem, "Homage Due to Lincoln, " by, 229. 

 COUCH, LOUIS BRADFORD: sketch of, 244; poem, "The Lincoln Boulder, " by, 244. 

 CRANCH, CHRISTOPHER PEARSE: sketch of, 206; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 207. 

 CROFTS, GEORGE W. : sketch of, 19; poem, "The Birth of Lincoln, " by, 19. 

 D

 "DARWIN, MENDELSSOHN, LINCOLN": poem by Clarence E. Carr, 21; portraits of, 20. 

 DAVIS, NOAH: sketch of, 17; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 17. 

 DEATH OF LINCOLN, 149. 

 "DEATH OF LINCOLN": poem by William Cullen Bryant, 161. 

 DEATHBED OF LINCOLN: picture of, 144; poem on, 145. 

 DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE: Lincoln on, 68. 

 "DEDICATION POEM" of Lincoln Monument at Springfield, Ill. , by James Judson Lord, 183. 

 DICKINSON, CHARLES MONROE: sketch of, 136; poem, "Abraham Lincoln, " by, 136. 

 "DIOGENES AND HIS LANTERN": campaign cartoon of 1860, 55. 

 DOUGLAS, STEPHEN A. , Senator: Lincoln's opposition to, xvi; attitude of, on the Dred Scott Decision, opposed by Lincoln, 42. 

 DRED SCOTT DECISION: reference to, 42. 

 DUNBAR, PAUL LAWRENCE: sketch of, 128; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 129. 

 E

 EDGERTON, JAMES ARTHUR: sketch of, 247; poem, "When Lincoln Died, " by, 247. 

 EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND: Statue of Lincoln in, by Bissell, 231. 

 "EMANCIPATION GROUP, " statuary designed by Thomas Ball: in Boston, 90; in Washington, 188; poem on, by John Greenleaf Whittier, 91. 

 "EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION, FIRST READING OF THE": painting by Frank B. Carpenter, 206. 

 "ENGLAND'S SORROW": poem in London _Fun_, 153. 

 EUCLID: see GEOMETRY. 

 "EYES OF LINCOLN, THE": poem by Walt Mason, 121. 

 F

 FASSETT, S. M. , Chicago photographer: portrait of Lincoln in 1858, by, 71. 

 "FIRST READING OF THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION": painting by Frank B. Carpenter, 206. 

 FLANNERY, LOTT, sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 199. 

 FOLSOM, JOSEPH FULFORD: sketch of, 234; poem, "The Unfinished Work, " by, 235. 

 FOLTZ, CHARLES G. : sketch of, 98; poem, "On Freedom's Summit, " by, 98. 

 FORD'S THEATRE: picture of, 138. 

 FRENCH, DANIEL CHESTER, sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 226. 

 FUN, LONDON: poem, "England's Sorrow" in, 153. 

 FUNERAL OF LINCOLN, THE, in White House: picture, 154. 

 "FUNERAL CAR OF LINCOLN": picture of, 158; poem by Richard Henry Stoddard on, 159. 

 "FUNERAL HYMN OF LINCOLN": poem by Phineas Densmore Gurley, 155. 

 G

 GANIERE, GEORGE E. , sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 228. 

 GARDNER, Washington photographer: portraits of Lincoln by, 88, 95, 112, 118, 130, 132. 

 GARRS, HENRY DE: sketch of, 200; poem, "On the Assassination of Lincoln, " by, 200. 

 GELERT, JOHANNES, sculptor: bust of Lincoln by, iv, v. 

 GENTRY, MATTHEW, insane friend of Lincoln: poem by Lincoln on, vii-ix. 

 GEOMETRY: favorite study of Lincoln, xii, 63. 

 GETTYSBURG, LINCOLN'S SPEECH AT: in prose form, 100; comment by William H. Lambert on, 101; in verse form, xii. 

 "GETTYSBURG ODE"; poem by Bayard Taylor, 102. 

 GILDER, RICHARD WATSON: sketch of, 45; poem, "On the Life-Mask of Abraham Lincoln, " by, 45. 

 GILMER, photographer: ambrotype of Lincoln, 1858, by, 40. 

 "GLORY, THE, THAT SLUMBERED IN THE GRANITE ROCKS": poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 241. 

 GOULD, ELIZABETH PORTER: sketch of, 41; poem, "The Voice of Lincoln, " by, 41. 

 "GRAVE OF LINCOLN, THE": views of, 178, 180, 182; poem on, by Edna Dean Proctor, 186. 

 "GREAT OAK, THE, " poem by Bennett Chapple, 14. 

 GUITERMAN, ARTHUR: sketch of, 123; poem, "He Leads Us Still, " by, 123. 

 GURLEY, PHINEAS DENSMORE: sketch of, 155; poem, "The Funeral Hymn of Lincoln, " by, 155. 

 H

 "HAD LINCOLN LIVED": Poem by Amos Russell Wells, 251. 

 HAGEDORN, HERMANN: sketch of, 107; poem, "Oh, Patient Eyes!" by, 107. 

 HALL, EUGENE J. : poem, "Abraham Lincoln, " by, 220. 

 HALPIN, CHARLES GRAHAM ("Miles O'Reilly"): sketch of, 215; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 216. 

 "HAND OF LINCOLN, THE": cast by Leonard W. Volk, 46; poem on, by Edmund Clarence Stedman, 47. 

 HANKS, NANCY: see LINCOLN, NANCY HANKS. 

 HAY, JOHN, secretary of Lincoln: portrait of, 67. 

 "HE LEADS US STILL": poem by Arthur Guiterman, 123. 

 HERNDON, WILLIAM H. , law partner of Lincoln: presents Lincoln's office chair to O. H. Oldroyd, 36. 

 HESLER, Chicago photographer: portrait of Lincoln in 1860, by, 58. 

 HICKS, painter of Lincoln portrait lithographed for campaign of 1860, 49. 

 HODGENVILLE, KY. : statue of Lincoln in, by Weinman, 126. 

 HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL: sketch of, 170; poem, "Services in Memory of Abraham Lincoln, " by, 171; his "Last Leaf, " a favorite poem of Lincoln, xi, xxi. 

 "HOMAGE DUE TO LINCOLN": poem by Kinahan Cornwallis, 229. 

 "HONEST ABE": campaign cartoon of 1860, 55. 

 "HONEST ABE OF THE WEST": poem by Edmund Clarence Stedman, 51. 

 HOOPER, LUCY HAMILTON: sketch of, 175; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 176. 

 "HORATIAN ODE, AN": poem by Richard Henry Stoddard, 29, 159, 193. 

 HOSMER, FREDERICK LUCIAN: sketch of, 134; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 135. 

 "HOUSE WHERE LINCOLN DIED, THE": picture of, 150; poem by Robert Mackay on, 151; Oldroyd collection of Lincoln Memorials at, _Foreword_. 

 HOWE, JULIA WARD: sketch of, 14; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 14. 

 I

 INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA: speech of Lincoln at, 68; picture of, 69. 

 INGMIRE, F. W. , photographer: picture of Lincoln Homestead at time of Lincoln's funeral, 172. 

 "IN TOKEN OF RESPECT": poem, 152. 

 J

 JOHNSON, EASTMAN: picture, "The Boy Lincoln, " by, 30. 

 JOHNSON, WILLIAM, literary friend of Lincoln: Lincoln's letters to, v-ix. 

 JOHNSTON, JAMES NICOLL: sketch of, 168; poem, "Requiem, " by, 169. 

 K

 KIMBALL, HARRIET MCEWEN: sketch of, 157; poem, "Rest, Rest, for Him, " by, 157. 

 KNOX, WILLIAM, Scotch poet: favorite of Lincoln, vi; his poem, "Oh Why Should the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud, " ix. 

 L

 LAMBERT, WILLIAM H. : on Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg, 101. 

 LARCOM, LUCY, sketch of, 164; poem, "Tolling, " by, 165. 

 "LAST LEAF, THE, " by O. W. Holmes: favorite poem of Lincoln, xi, xxi. 

 "LEADER OF HIS PEOPLE": poem by William Wilberforce Newton, 32. 

 LEIGHTON, ROBERT: poem, "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" by, 139. 

 "LET THE PRESIDENT SLEEP": poem by James M. Stewart, 179. 

 "LET HIS MONUMENT ARISE": poem by Samuel Green Wheeler Benjamin, 253. 

 "LIBERATOR, THE": poem by Theron Brown, 94. 

 "LIFE-MASK OF LINCOLN, THE": cast by Leonard W. Volk, 44; poem on, by Richard Watson Gilder, 45. 

 LINCOLN, ABRAHAM: poems by, v-ix; speeches by, xii-xiv, xv-xvii, xix, xxi-xxiii; lectures by, xix, xx; his favorite poems, vi, ix-xi, xxi; his moral character, xiv-xvii; his literary inspirations, xii, xvi-xix, xxiii, 17; as a dramatic critic, xvii-xix; as a literary artist, xix-xxiii; his taste for humor, xx; birth 13, 14, 15, 17, 19, 21, 22, 74, 109; youth, 14, 17, 29, 31, 32, 46, 47, 142; education, 17, 22, 23, 31, 32, 35; profession, 34, 36, 37, 147, 148; religion, 17, 18, 41, 65, 66, 79, 81, 84, 85, 99, 105, 114, 125, 135, 223; statecraft, 14, 18, 23, 29, 33, 37, 38, 42, 47, 48, 57, 59, 70, 75, 77, 78, 83, 91, 94, 95, 96, 98, 110, 116, 119, 127, 129, 131, 136, 141, 148, 161, 163, 183, 189, 193, 209, 220, 223, 229, 232, 241; character, 43, 45, 48, 51, 54, 56, 61, 74, 87, 89, 107, 109, 113, 116, 121, 123, 125, 127, 131, 133, 135, 136, 139, 141, 148, 174, 176, 189, 200, 201, 209, 211, 216, 220, 223, 227, 239, 241; death, 15, 18, 24, 29, 31, 61, 75, 92, 99, 137, 138-207, 211, 219, 230, 247, 251. 

 "LINCOLN": title of poems by Becker, Charlotte, 61; Boker, George Henry, 209; Cheney, John Vance, 77; Cranch, Christopher Pearse, 207; Dunbar, Paul Lawrence, 129; Davis, Noah, 17; Halpin, Charles Graham, 216; Hooper, Lucy Hamilton, 176; Hosmer, Frederick Lucian, 135; Howe, Julia Ward, 14; Mitchell, S. Weir, 125; Monroe, Harriet, 119; Smith, Wilbur Hazelton, 35; Trowbridge, John Townsend, 227. 

 "LINCOLN, ABRAHAM": title of poems by, Cary, Alice, 131; Cary, Phoebe, 211; Cooke, Rose Terry, 133; Dickinson, Charles Monroe, 136; Hall, Eugene J. , 200; Sangster, Margaret Elizabeth, 109; Townsend, George Alfred, 127. 

 "LINCOLN, ABRAHAM, FOULLY ASSASSINATED": cartoon in London _Punch_, 140; poem by Tom Taylor on, 141. 

 LINCOLN, AMBROTYPES OF: 34, 40, 42, 52. 

 "LINCOLN AND CABINET": painting by Frank B. Carpenter, 206. 

 "LINCOLN AND STANTON": poem by Marion Mills Miller, 148. 

 "LINCOLN AS CANDIDATE FOR SENATOR": ambrotype by Gilmer, 1858, 40. 

 "LINCOLN AT SPRINGFIELD, 1861": poem by Anna Bache, 66. 

 "LINCOLN AT THE TIME OF DEBATE WITH DOUGLAS": ambrotype in 1858, 42. 

 LINCOLN, BAS-RELIEF HEAD OF: by James W. Tuft, 246. 

 LINCOLN, BUST OF: by Johannes Gelert, iv. 

 "LINCOLN BY THE CABIN FIRE": picture, 16. 

 "LINCOLN CALLED TO THE PRESIDENCY": poem by Henry Wilson Clendenin, 70. 

 LINCOLN, CARTOONS OF: "Abraham Lincoln Foully Assassinated, " 140; "Honest Abe, " 55. 

 "LINCOLN, 1809--FEBRUARY 12, 1909" poem by Madison Cawein, 56. 

 "LINCOLN, 1865": poem by John Nichol, 204. 

 LINCOLN, DEATH OF, 149. 

 LINCOLN, HAND OF: cast by Leonard W. Volk, 46. 

 LINCOLN, HEAD OF: in marble, by Borglum, at Washington, 240. 

 "LINCOLN IN HIS OFFICE CHAIR": poem by James Riley, 37. 

 LINCOLN, LIFE-MASK OF: by Leonard W. Volk, 44. 

 LINCOLN, MEDALLION OF: Bronze Head in Commemoration of Lincoln Centenary, 238. 

 "LINCOLN, MENDELSSOHN, DARWIN": poem by Clarence E. Carr, 21; portraits of, 20. 

 LINCOLN, MONUMENTS OF: Lincoln Memorial at Washington, by Bacon, Henry, 252; Lincoln Monument in Springfield, Ill. , by Mead, Larken G. , 182. 

 LINCOLN, OFFICE CHAIR OF: picture, 36. 

 LINCOLN, PHOTOGRAPHS OF: Brady's, _frontispiece_, 20, 86, 93, 97, 103, 106, 108, 122, 124, 128, 134, 170, 210; Fassett's, 71; Gardner's, 88, 95, 112, 118, 130, 132; Gilmer's, 40; Hesler's, 58; by unidentified photographers, 34, 42, 52, 60, 67, 82, 84, 120. 

 LINCOLN, PICTURES OF: "Boy Lincoln, The, " by Eastman Johnson, 30; "Lincoln, by the Cabin Fire, " 16; "Rail Splitter, The, " 28. 

 "LINCOLN, POETIC SPIRIT OF": introduction by Marion Mills Miller, v. 

 LINCOLN, PORTRAIT PAINTINGS OF: "A Study of Lincoln, " by Campbell, Blendon, 249; in "Lincoln and Cabinet, " by Carpenter, Frank B. , 206; by Hicks, 49. 

 "LINCOLN, PRESIDENT, TO, " poem by Edmund Ollier, 96. 

 "LINCOLN'S CHURCH IN WASHINGTON": picture of, 79; poem by Lyman Whitney Allen, 81. 

 "LINCOLN, SOLDIER OF CHRIST": poem in _Macmillan's Magazine_, 85. 

 LINCOLN, SPEECHES OF: in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, 68; on leaving Springfield, 65. 

 LINCOLN, STUDIES OF: by Ball, in Boston, 90, and in Washington, 188; by Bissell, in Edinburgh, Scotland, 231; by Borglum in Newark, N. J. , 234, 236; by Flannery, in Washington, 199; by French, in Lincoln, Neb. , 226; by Ganiere, in Burlington, Wis. , 228; by Niehaus, in Muskegon, Mich. , 203; by Ream, in Washington, 222; by Rogers, in Philadelphia, 208; by Saint Gaudens, in Chicago, 214; by Weinman, in Hodgenville, Ky. , 126; by Volk, 192. 

 "LINCOLN THE LABORER": poem by Richard Henry Stoddard, 29. 

 "LINCOLN THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE": poem by Edwin Markham, 74. 

 "LINCOLN BOULDER, THE": picture of, 243; poem on, by Louis Bradford Couch, 244. 

 LINCOLN HOMESTEAD, Springfield, Ill. : picture of, in 1861, 64; in 1865, 172. 

 LINCOLN, NANCY HANKS, mother of Lincoln: tomb of, 25; poem on, by Harriet Monroe, 26. 

 LINCOLN, NEB. : statue of Lincoln in, by French. 226. 

 LINCOLN, SARAH BUSH, stepmother of Lincoln: cabin of, 62; her parting from Lincoln, 63. 

 LINCOLN, THOMAS, father of Lincoln: cabin of, 62, 63. 

 LINCOLN, THOMAS ("Tad"), son of Lincoln: portrait of, 103. 

 LOCKE, DAVID R. , see NASBY, PETROLEUM V. 

 "LOG CABIN, THE, " birthplace of Lincoln: picture of, 13. 

 LORD, JAMES JUDSON: sketch of, 183; poem at dedication of Lincoln Monument at Springfield, Ill. , by, 183. 

 LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL: sketch of, 189; poem, "Commemoration Ode, " by, 189. 

 M

 MACKAY, JAMES: sketch of, 181; poem, "The Cenotaph of Lincoln, " by, 181. 

 MACKAY, ROBERT: sketch of, 151; poem, "The House where Lincoln Died, " by, 151. 

 MACMILLAN'S MAGAZINE: poem, "Lincoln, Soldier of Christ, " in, 85. 

 "MAN LINCOLN, THE": poem by Wilbur Dick Nesbit, 113. 

 MARKHAM, EDWIN: sketch of, 74; poem, "Lincoln the Man of the People, " by, 74. 

 "MARTYR PRESIDENT, THE": poem, 219. 

 MASON, WALT: sketch of, 121; poem, "The Eyes of Lincoln, " by, 121. 

 "MASTER, THE": poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson, 116. 

 "MATCHLESS LINCOLN, THE": poem by Isaac Bassett Choate, 59. 

 MEAD, LARKEN G. , architect: Lincoln Monument at Springfield, Ill. , by, 182. 

 "MENDELSSOHN, DARWIN, LINCOLN": poem by Clarence E. Carr, 21; portraits of, 20. 

 MILLER, MARION MILLS: editorial assistance by, in "The Poets' Lincoln, " _Acknowledgment_; introduction by, v; sketch of, 146; poem, "Lincoln and Stanton, " by, 148. 

 MITCHELL, S. WEIR: sketch of, 125; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 125. 

 MONROE, HARRIET: sketch of, 26; poems, "Nancy Hanks, " 26, and "Lincoln, " 119. 

 MUSKEGON, MICH. : statue of Lincoln in, by Niehaus, 203. 

 "MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME I SEE AGAIN": poem by Lincoln, vi. 

 N

 "NASBY, PETROLEUM V. " (David R. Locke), humorist: Lincoln's fondness for, xx. 

 "NATAL DAY OF LINCOLN, THE": poem by James Phinney Baxter, 22. 

 NESBIT, WILBUR DICK: sketch of, 113; poem, "The Man Lincoln, " by, 113. 

 NEWARK, N. J. , Statue of Lincoln in, by Borglum, 234, 236. 

 NEWTON, WILLIAM WILBERFORCE: sketch of, 32; poem, "Leader of His People, " by, 32. 

 NEW YORK AVENUE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, WASHINGTON: picture of, 79. 

 NEW YORK CITY: obsequies of Lincoln at, 162, 166. 

 NICHOL, JOHN: sketch of, 204; poem, "Lincoln, 1865, " by, 204. 

 NICOLAY, JOHN G. , secretary of Lincoln: his account of Lincoln's lectures, xix; portrait of, 67. 

 NIEHAUS, CHARLES, sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 202. 

 NYACK, N. Y. : Lincoln Boulder at, 243. 

 O

 OAK RIDGE CEMETERY, SPRINGFIELD, ILL. : views in, 178, 180. 

 "O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!" poem by Walt Whitman, 197. 

 "ODE" on Lincoln's obsequies: by Henry T. Tuckerman, 163. 

 "OH, PATIENT EYES!" poem by Hermann Hagedorn, 107. 

 "OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD?" by William Knox, favorite poem of Lincoln, vi, ix. 

 OLDROYD, OSBORN H. : editor of "The Poets' Lincoln"; his purpose, _Foreword_; his collection of Lincoln memorials, _Foreword_; owner of Lincoln's office chair, 36. 

 OLLIER, EDMUND: poem, "To President Lincoln, " by, 96. 

 "ONE OF OUR PRESIDENTS": poem by Wendell Phillips Stafford, 237. 

 "ON FREEDOM'S SUMMIT": poem by Charles G. Foltz, 98. 

 "O'REILLY, MILES, " see HALPIN, CHARLES GRAHAM. 

 P

 "PEACEFUL LIFE, A": poem by James Whitcomb Riley, 31. 

 PHELPS, ELIZABETH STUART: sketch of, 43; poem, "The Thoughts of Lincoln, " by, 43. 

 PHILADELPHIA: speech of Lincoln at, 68; statue of Lincoln in, by Rogers, 208; tablet to Lincoln in, 218. 

 PIATT, JOHN JAMES: sketch of, 83; poem, "Sonnet in 1862, " by, 83. 

 "POETICAL TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN": by Emily J. Bugbee, 201. 

 "POETIC SPIRIT OF LINCOLN": introduction by Marion Mills Miller, v. 

 POLK, JAMES K. , President: Lincoln's arraignment of, xvi. 

 "PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN, 1860": poem by William Henry Burleigh, 53. 

 PROCTOR, EDNA DEAN: sketch of, 186; poem, "The Grave of Lincoln, " by, 186. 

 PUNCH, LONDON: poem on "Abraham Lincoln Foully Assassinated, " in, 140. 

 R

 "RAIL SPLITTER, THE": picture, 28. 

 REAM VINNIE, sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 222. 

 REPEAL OF MISSOURI COMPROMISE: Lincoln's speech on, xv-xvii. 

 REPUBLICAN CONVENTION OF 1860: reference to, 50. 

 "REQUIEM": poem by James Nicoll Johnston, 169. 

 "REQUIEM OF LINCOLN": poem by Richard Storrs Willis, 167. 

 "REST, REST FOR HIM": poem by Harriet McEwen Kimball, 157. 

 RILEY, JAMES: sketch of, 37; poem, "Lincoln in His Office Chair, " by, 37. 

 RILEY, JAMES WHITCOMB: sketch of, 31; poem, "A Peaceful Life, " by, 31. 

 ROBINSON, EDWIN ARLINGTON: sketch of, 116; poem, "The Master, " by, 116. 

 ROGERS, RANDOLPH, sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 208. 

 ROTUNDA, CITY HALL, NEW YORK: picture of, at time of Lincoln's obsequies, 166. 

 S

 SAINT GAUDENS, AUGUSTUS, sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 214, 215. 

 ST. JAMES HALL, BUFFALO, N. Y. : picture of, at time of Lincoln obsequies, 168. 

 SANGSTER, MARGARET ELIZABETH: sketch of, 109; poem, "Abraham Lincoln, " by, 109. 

 SCHUYLER, HAMILTON: sketch of, 87; poem, "A Characterization of Lincoln, " by, 87. 

 "SCOTLAND STATUE, THE": poem by David K. Watson, 232. 

 "SECOND INAUGURAL, LINCOLN'S": poem by Benjamin Franklin Taylor, 104. 

 "SERVICES IN MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN": poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes, 171. 

 SEWARD, WILLIAM H. , Secretary of State: suggests closing passage of Lincoln's First Inaugural, xxii-xxiii; portrait in "Lincoln and Cabinet, " 206. 

 SHAKESPEARE: Lincoln's fondness for, xvi-xix. 

 SHERMAN, FRANK DEMPSTER: sketch of, 239; poem, "On a Bronze Medal of Lincoln, " by, 239. 

 "SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS!", poem by Robert Leighton, 139. 

 SLAVERY: Lincoln on, xii, xv-xvii; the Dred Scott Decision, 42; Lincoln the emancipator, 90, 91, 94, 96, 98, 152, 161, 184, 187, 221, 229, 232, 241. 

 SMITH, SAMUEL FRANCIS: sketch of, 222; poem, "The Tomb of Lincoln, " by, 223. 

 SMITH, WILBUR HAZELTON: sketch of, 35; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 35. 

 "SONNET in 1862": poem by John James Piatt, 83. 

 SPEED, LUCY G. : autographed portrait of himself given by Lincoln to, 84. 

 SPRINGFIELD, ILL. : homestead of Lincoln at, 64, 172; Lincoln's funeral at, 172-181; state capitol at, 175; public vault in Oak Ridge cemetery at, 178, 180; monument to Lincoln at, 182. 

 "SPRINGFIELD'S WELCOME TO LINCOLN": poem by William Allen, 173. 

 STAFFORD, WENDELL PHILLIPS: sketch of, 236; poem, "One of Our Presidents, " by, 237; reference to, 80. 

 STANTON, EDWIN M. : tribute to Lincoln dead, 144, 147; portrait, 146; poem on, 148; portrait of, in "Lincoln and Cabinet, " 206. 

 STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE: sketch of, 47; poem, "The Hand of Lincoln, " by, 47; poem, "Honest Abe of the West, " by, 51. 

 STEVENS, HIRAM F. : tribute to Lincoln by, 219. 

 STEWART, JAMES M. : poem, "Let the President Sleep, " by, 179. 

 STICKLE, THOMPSON: designer of monument of Nancy Hanks Lincoln, 25. 

 STODDARD, RICHARD HENRY: sketch of, 193; passages from his "Horatian Ode, " 29, 159, 193. 

 "STUDY OF LINCOLN, A": painting by Blendon Campbell, 249. 

 T

 TAYLOR, BAYARD: sketch of 102; poem, "Geyttsburg Ode, " by, 102. 

 TAYLOR, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: sketch of, 104; poem, "Lincoln's Second Inaugural, " by, 104. 

 TAYLOR, TOM: poem, "Abraham Lincoln, Foully Assassinated, " by, 141. 

 "THOUGHTS OF LINCOLN, THE": poem by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, 43. 

 TIEFENTHALER, JOSEPHINE OLDROYD, child guide in the "House where Lincoln Died": portrait, 150; reference to, 151, 152. 

 "TOMB OF LINCOLN, THE": poem by Samuel Francis Smith, 223. 

 TOWNSEND, GEORGE ALFRED: sketch of, 126; poem, "Abraham Lincoln, " by, 127. 

 TROWBRIDGE, JOHN TOWNSEND: sketch of, 227; poem, "Lincoln, " by, 227. 

 TUCKERMAN, HENRY T. : sketch of, 163; "Ode" on Lincoln's obsequies, by, 163. 

 TUFT, JAMES W. , sculptor: bas-relief Head of Lincoln by, 246. 

 U

 "UNFINISHED WORK, THE": Poem by Joseph Fulford Folsom, 235. 

 UNION, THE: Lincoln on, 100, 102. 

 USHER, J. P. , Secretary of the Interior: portrait of, in "Lincoln and Cabinet, " 206. 

 V

 "VOICE OF LINCOLN, THE, " Poem by Elizabeth Porter Gould, 41. 

 VOLK, LEONARD W. , sculptor: Life-Mask of Lincoln by, 44; cast of Hand of Lincoln by, 46; statue of Lincoln by, 192. 

 W

 WARD, ARTEMUS (Charles F. Browne) humorist: Lincoln's fondness for, xx. 

 WASHINGTON, D. C. : statues of Lincoln in, by Ball, 188; Flannery, 199; Ream, 222; marble head of Lincoln by Borglum, in, 240; Lincoln Memorial by Bacon in, 252; picture of Capitol, 73; of White House, 76; funeral of Lincoln in, 154. 

 WASHINGTON, GEORGE: Lincoln's poetic tribute to, xix. 

 WATSON, DAVID K. : sketch of, 232; poem, "The Scotland Statue, " by, 232. 

 WEBSTER, DANIEL: originator of closing sentence of Lincoln's Gettysburg speech, xxi, xxii. 

 WEINMANN, ADOLPH A. , sculptor: statue of Lincoln by, 126. 

 WELLES, GIDEON, Secretary of the Navy: portrait of, in "Lincoln and Cabinet, " 206. 

 WELLS, AMOS RUSSELL: sketch of, 250; poem, "Had Lincoln Lived, " by, 251. 

 "WHEN LINCOLN DIED": poem by James Arthur Edgerton, 247. 

 "WHERE LINCOLN WORSHIPPED": picture of N. Y. Ave. Presbyterian Church, Washington, 79. 

 WHITE HOUSE AT WASHINGTON: picture and description of, 76; funeral of Lincoln in, 154. 

 WHITMAN, WALT: autographed portrait of, 196; sketch of, 197; poem, "O Captain! My Captain!" by, 197. 

 WHITNEY, HENRY C. : author of "Life of Lincoln, " v; on Lincoln's poetic sensibility, xi, xxi; on his habit of reading, 16; on Lincoln as a lawyer, 34. 

 WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF: sketch of, 91; poem, "The Emancipation Group, " by, 91; reference to, v. 

 "WIGWAM, THE, " Republican convention hall, Chicago, 1860: picture of, 50. 

 WILCOX, ELLA WHEELER: sketch of, 241; poem, "The Glory that Slumbered in the Granite Rock, " by, 241. 

 WILLIS, RICHARD STORRS: sketch of, 167; poem, "Requiem of Lincoln, " by, 167. 

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

Every effort has been made to faithfully reproduce the original bookin this etext. The inconsistent, alternate and archaic spelling andusage that one would expect in a collection of poets and authors from1915 and earlier have been preserved. Errors in the Index, obviousand simple enough to be assumed typesetter's errors, have beencorrected. Other problems and corrections are listed below. 

 Page: 1 Text: extends his grateful acknowledgment Change: acknowledgement changed to acknowledgment (to match spelling of section title)

 Page: 6 Text: Abraham Lincoln Foully Assassinated, by Tom Taylor Change: removed comma after Taylor

 Page: 11 Text: The Funeral of Lincoln, in East Room of White House Change: removed comma after White House

 Page: xvi Text: Yours truly, Change: Comma added

 Page: xvii Text: It matters not to me whether Shakspeare be well or ill acted Change: Shakespeare changed to Shakspeare (alternate spelling used by Carpenter)

 Page: xx Text: performed this function in a still more Change: added the word "in"

 Page: 22 Text: Like all great souls with vision unobscured Change: version changed to vision

 Page: 116 Text: May be forgotten by and by Change: fogotten changed to forgotten

 Page: 117 Text: Shrewd, hallowed, harassed Change: harrassed changed to harassed

 Page: 172 Text: (5) Hon. W. H. Wallace, Idaho Change: Walace change to Wallace

 Page: 172 Text: (3) Hon. Lyman Trumbull, Illinois Change: Hon changed to Hon. 

 Page: 189 Text: And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn Change: wealth changed to wreath

 Page: 216 Text: He filled the Nation's eyes and heart Change: We changed to He

 Page: 216 Text: Pathetic, kindly, droll or stern Change: added comma after Pathetic

 Page: 223 Text: Here, Captain! dear Father! Change: Hear changed to Here

 Page: 243 Text: funds to remove it from Change: extra "to" removed

 Page: 252 Text: The George A. Fuller Company of Washington Change: removed comma after Company

 Harper's Bazar (page 109) did not change the spelling to Bazaar until about 1929. 

 No poet is mentioned for "The Deathbed" on page 145. However, this poem seems to be "Now He Belongs to the Ages" by William L. Stidger, from The Lincoln Book of Poems, published by R. G. Badger, copyright 1911, page 30. (available on archive. Org)

 Pages v, vi and vii refer to Lincoln's correspondent as both Johnson and Johnston. Left as printed.