Augustus St. Gaudens

STATUE OF LINCOLN, LINCOLN PARK, CHICAGO

LINCOLN DAY
ENTERTAINMENTS

RECITATIONS, PLAYS, DIALOGUES, DRILLS,
TABLEAUX, PANTOMIMES, QUOTATIONS,
SONGS, TRIBUTES, STORIES, FACTS

EDITED BY

JOS. C. SINDELAR

A. FLANAGAN COMPANY
CHICAGO

Copyright, 1908
BY
A. FLANAGAN COMPANY

[PREFACE]

IT IS especially fitting to issue this book—in fact, any book on the life and work of Abraham Lincoln—at this time, just preceding the centennial of his birth. Insignificant as the little volume may seem, it will have earned its right to publication if it bring, in whatever small measure, before the growing mind of the country a better realization of the grand life of the noble Lincoln—the loved and martyred President—inspired by God and divinely prepared for a great purpose: to guard and preserve a free and united country.

One hundred years seem but a day! One thousand years hence a deeper feeling will be felt for everything concerning Lincoln, as with each passing year he grows in the affections of the people. His body is dead, but his memory will live in the hearts of the people as long as our country shall cherish freedom and liberty. He was a born king of men, with an intense and yearning love for his fellows and their welfare, which knew neither rank, race, nor creed, but gathered within its boundless charity all mankind.

What a shining xample this simple but sublime life offers to our growing youth! Born of humble parents, surrounded by poverty and hardships such as we seldom encounter today, his rise to the highest position in the gift of the American people—which position he not only ably filled but highly honored—is a grand illustration of persistence and ambition; ambition, though, tempered with foresight and wisdom. His was an exemplary character: a character which for quaint simplicity, earnestness, kindness, truthfulness and purity has never been surpassed among the historic personages of the world. His figure, too, more than any other in the history of our country, illustrates that America is the land of opportunity. In short, to us he is the representative and typical American.

He missed the polish that higher education affords, polish though he needed not. What would not this country, with all its bright and polished men, give today for another man of rugged education, rugged honesty and rugged foresight and wisdom as was Abraham Lincoln? It is hard to measure the usefulness of the life of such a man, yet more hard to do his memory justice. Great qualities of heart and head did he possess, of patience, patriotism, and piety, too. He occupies a unique place in our nation's history. Though most of us never saw him, yet we feel daily the influence of his just and kindly life bound up in the two titles given him by his neighbors and those who knew him well: "Honest Old Abe" and "Father Abraham."

The matter in this book, the only one of its kind published, is intended not only for the entertainment of children but for their instruction also. The contents for the most part is new, much of it having been written especially for the book by Marie Irish, Clara J. Denton, and Laura R. Smith, and some gathered from various sources and adapted by the compiler. It is arranged as nearly as possible under the various headings in degree of difficulty, primary material being placed first.

Grateful acknowledgments are rendered to all magazines, periodicals and books from whose pages selections have been gleaned and without which the book could not have been complete. Proper credit has been given wherever such matter appears. A few selections have been used of which the names of author or publisher are unknown. For these it has been impossible to give proper credit. In cases where unintentional infringements have been made, sincere apologies are tendered.

J. C. S.

[CONTENTS]

[LINCOLN DAY ENTERTAINMENTS]

[READINGS, RECITATIONS, QUOTATIONS]

SOME HEROES

This recitation is intended to be rendered by two little boys. One holds a book and shows the pictures while the other recites.

NOW look, and some pictures of heroes I'll show,
A hero is always a brave man, you know.
Here on this first page is Washington grand,
He fought for our liberty, our free, honored land.
And next we see our loved Lincoln so brave,
You know he gave freedom to each poor old slave.
And here's General Grant! Think what battles he won!
He fought that all States be united as one.
You see all these heroes are both good and great,
And each gave his life for his country and state.
The last is a hero,—now think who 'twill be!
He, too, will be great; now look and see,—Me.

OUR LINCOLN

Our Lincoln, when he was a boy,
Was very tall and slim.
You see I'm just a little tall;
I wonder if I look like him.
Our Lincoln, when he was a boy,
Was very brave and very true.
Today I'm just a little brave;
In this I'm like our Lincoln, too.
Our Lincoln, when he was a man,
Was loved and honored everywhere.
I'll be the man that Lincoln was,
To do this I must now prepare.

LIKE LINCOLN

Clara J. Denton

WHEN I'm a man, a great big man,
Like dear old Abe I'll be.
I mean to follow every plan
To make me good as he.
I'll study well, and tell the truth.
And all my teachers mind;
And I will be to every one,
Like him, so true and kind.
I'll try to live in peace, because
"Quarrels don't pay," said he;
And any rule of "Honest Abe's"
Is good enough for me.
I'll make the best of everything,
And never scold or whine;
That was his way when trouble came,
And so it shall be mine.
I'll be a temperance man, like him.
They say—what do you think!—
He gave some great men at his house,
Just water cold to drink!
He did not muddle up his brains
With any sort of stuff.
And so, I think his way—don't you?
Is plenty good enough.
I may not be a President
If thus my life I plan.
But I'll be something better still:
A good and honest man.

LINCOLN[A]

ONLY a baby, fair and small,
Like many another baby son,
Whose smiles and tears came swift at call,
Who ate, and slept, and grew, that's all,—
The infant Abe Lincoln.
Only a boy like other boys,
With many a task, but little fun,
Fond of his books, though few he had,
By his good mother's death made sad,—
The little Abe Lincoln.
Only a lad, awkward and shy,
Skilled in handling an ax or gun,
Mastering knowledge that, by and by,
Should aid him in duties great and high,—
The youthful Abe Lincoln.
Only a man of finest bent,
A splendid man: a Nation's son,
Rail-splitter, Lawyer, President,
Who served his country and died content,—
The patriot, Abe Lincoln.
Only—ah! what was the secret, then,
Of his being America's honored son?
Why was he famed above other men,
His name upon every tongue and pen,—
The illustrious Abe Lincoln?
A mighty brain, a will to endure,
Kind to all, though a slave to none,
A heart that was brave, and strong, and sure,
A soul that was noble, and great, and pure,
A faith in God that was held secure,—
This was Abraham Lincoln.

[A] With apologies to the unknown writer of the pretty poem Washington, of which this is an adaptation.—Editor.

THE GRANDSON OF THE VETERAN

Arthur E. Parke

I'VE got the finest grandpapa
That ever lived, I b'lieve;
He used to be a soldier boy—
He's got one empty sleeve.
He tells the grandest tales to me,
Of battles that he fought;
Of how he marched, and how he charged,
And how that he got shot.
My papa was a soldier, too;
No battles was he in,
And when I ask him, "Why?", he laughs
And "guesses" he "was tin."
I've tried to understand their talk,
And b'lieve I have it right:
My grandpa licked so many, there
Were none for pa to fight.

—Youth's Companion.

WAS LINCOLN KING?

Ella M. Bangs

WE TALKED of kings, little Ned and I,
As we sat in the firelight's glow;
Of Alfred the Great, in days gone by,
And his kingdom of long ago.
Of Norman William, who, brave and stern,
His armies to victory led.
Then, after a pause, "At school we learn
Of another great man," said Ned.
"And this one was good to the oppressed,
He was gentle and brave, and so
Wasn't he greater than all the rest?
'Twas Abraham Lincoln, you know."
"Was Lincoln a king?" I asked him then,
And in waiting for his reply
A long procession of noble men
Seemed to pass in the firelight by.
When "No" came slowly from little Ned,
And thoughtfully; then, with a start,
"He wasn't a king—outside," he said,
"But I think he was in his heart."

LET US BE LIKE HIM[B]

Lydia Avery Coonley

WHEN we think of Abraham Lincoln
Then the angel voices call,
Saying: Try to be just like him!
Be as noble, one and all.
Be as truthful, as unselfish;
Be as pure, as good, as kind;
Be as honest; never flatter;
Give to God your heart and mind.
Seek not praise, but do your duty,
Love the right and work for it;
Then the world will be the better
Because you have lived in it.

[B] From Lincoln and Washington, by Marian M. George and Lydia Avery Coonley. Copyrighted and published by A. Flanagan Company. Price, twenty-five cents.

LINCOLN AND THE NESTLINGS

Clara J. Denton

I'VE heard the beautiful stories
Of Lincoln so great and so good.
He helped all people in trouble,
And their grief so well understood;
To many sad tales he listened,
Of heart-broken mothers and wives;
And pausing 'mid all his worries,
Once more he brought hope to their lives.
Dearer than all other stories,
Is this little one of the day
When he, with his friends, was riding
On horseback along the roadway;
There, in the dust, by a tree, he found
One little bird, then another,
From their nest the wind had blown them,
And he was hunting for their mother.
When at last he found the nest, and
In it the birdies laid,
'Mid the party's merry laughter
His heart was glad, his manner grave:
"Seems to me," he said, "I couldn't
Tonight in bed with ease have slept
Had I left those creatures suffer
And not restored them to their nest."
Wonderful heart; ever tender—
Tender, yet just, with the rest.
I think among all the stories,
This shows his true nature the best.

THE BEST TRIBUTE

Sidney Dayre

MY GRANDPA was a soldier. They tell about the day
He said his very last good-by and bravely marched away,
With flying flags and bayonets all gleaming in the sun.
They never saw him march back when all the war was done.
They brought him here and laid him where I can always bring
The very brightest flowers that blossom in the spring;
But sweeter far than flowers, as every one can tell,
Is the memory of the soldiers who loved their country well.
I wish I could be like him—to try with all my might
And do my loyal service for honor and for right
And victory and glory! But children now, you know,
Have never any chance at all to war against a foe.
And as I think upon it, the best that we can do
To show our love and honor for a hero brave and true,
Is to resolve together always to be brave,
To live our very noblest in the land he died to save.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Susie M. Best

'MID the names that fate has written
On the deathless scroll of fame,
We behold the name of Lincoln,
Shining like a living flame.
'Mid the deeds the world remembers,
(Deeds by dauntless heroes done),
We behold the deeds of Lincoln,
Blazing like a brilliant sun.
'Mid the lives whose light illumines
History's dark and dreadful page,
We behold the life of Lincoln,
Lighting up an awful age.
When the storm of peril threatened
His loved land to overwhelm,
Safe the ship of state he guided,
With his hand upon the helm.
Statesman, ruler, hero, martyr—
Fitting names for him, I say,
Wherefore, let us all as brothers,
Love his memory today.

'TIS SPLENDID TO LIVE SO GRANDLY[C]
Margaret E. Sangster

'TIS splendid to live so grandly
That, long after you are gone,
The things you did are remembered,
And recounted under the sun;
To live so bravely and purely
That a nation stops on its way,
And once a year, with banner and drum,
Keeps the thoughts of your natal day.
'Tis splendid to have a record,
So white and free from stain,
That, held to the light, it shows no blot,
Though tested and tried again;
That age to age forever
Repeats its story of love,
And your birthday lives in a nation's heart
All other days above.
And this is our Lincoln's glory,
A steadfast soul and true,
Who stood for his country's union,
When his country called him to.
And now that we once more are one,
And our flag of stars is flung
To the breeze in defiant challenge,
His name is on every tongue.
Yes, it's splendid to live so bravely,
To be so great and strong,
That your memory is ever a tocsin
To rally the foes of the wrong;
To live so proudly and purely
That your people pause in their way,
And year by year, with banner and drum,
Keep the thoughts of your natal day.

[C] Adapted by the editor from the author's excellent tribute to Washington. The poem is equally true to the character and work of Lincoln as well as the love for him.

AT RICHMOND
Clara J. Denton

WE HAVE read the stories glowing,
Found in annals of old,
Of mighty conquerers marching,
With cohorts strong and bold:
We see the proud monarch, riding
In grand and lofty state,
We hear the clamor, extolling
His skill and prowess great.
But, grander by far the vision
Modern annals unclose:
Through the burning streets of Richmond
Walks Lincoln 'mong his foes.
Though no pride of state surrounds him,
On every side we hear:
"Foh Marsa Linkum, bress de Lawd."
"De Sabiour now am near."
"O, honey chile, jes' tech him once!"
"Suah heben is 'mos' nigh."
"I's on de mount, O, Gawd, I is."
"Dis niggah now kin die."
O, the poor untutored negroes!
And yet I am sure, to him
Before those cries of joy and love
Earth's brightest gauds grew dim.
And, I think, his heart that morning
A throb exultant gave;
For never more his countrymen
Could know the name of slave!

LINCOLN

FROM out the strong young west he came
In those warlike days of yore,
When Freedom's cry had reached the sky
And rung from shore to shore.
He knew the world was watching him,
He heard the words of scorn,
He felt the weight of a severed State
By cruel rebellion torn.
But calling on Jehovah,
He seized his mighty pen
And with a stroke, the chains he broke
From a million bonded men.
He was a dauntless leader
As among the host he moved,
And he gave his life in the time of strife
To save the cause he loved.

THE FLAG GOES BY
Henry Holcomb Bennett

HATS off!
Along the street there comes
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums,
A flash of color beneath the sky;
Hats off!
The flag is passing by!
Blue and crimson and white it shines,
Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines.
Hats off!
The colors before us fly;
But more than the flag is passing by:
Sea fights and land fights, grim and great,
Fought to make and save the State;
Weary marches and sinking ships;
Cheers of victory on dying lips;
Days of plenty and years of peace;
March of a strong land's swift increase;
Equal justice, right, and law,
Stately honor and reverend awe;
Sign of a nation, great and strong
To ward her people from foreign wrong;
Pride and glory and honor,—all
Live in the colors to stand or fall.
Hats off!
Along the street there comes
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums;
And loyal hearts are beating high.
Hats off!
The flag is passing by!

THE STORY OF LINCOLN
C. C. Hassler

TELL to the boys the story of Lincoln,
Tell it to them when early in youth,
Tell of his struggles for knowledge to fit him,
Guide him thro' manhood in honored truth.
Tell them of Lincoln; yes, tell them the story,
None more worthy of honor than he;
None was more proud of our national glory;
None was more true to the flag of the free.
Tell to the boys the story of Lincoln;
Tell of his loyalty, tell of his hate—
Not toward men, but the infamous measures
False to the nation, the home and the state.
Tell them; yes, tell them, his highest ambition
Was of all men in the nation to stand
Close to the hearts of the people who loved him—
Loved him and chose him to rule in the land.
Tell to the boys the sad story of Lincoln;
Tell of his trials when traitors defied
And spurned the old flag; how the nation's defenders
At his call rallied and sprang to his side;
Tell how he suffered when news of the battle
Told of disaster, of wounded and dead;
Tell how his great noble heart was oft gladdened
When as proud victors our armies were led.
Tell them; yes, tell them the story and point them
Up to a standard he would applaud;
Loyal in life to the state and the nation,
True to one country, one flag and one God.

OLD FLAG
Hubbard Parker

WHAT shall I say to you, Old Flag?
You are so grand in every fold,
So linked with mighty deeds of old,
So steeped in blood where heroes fell,
So torn and pierced by shot and shell,
So calm, so still, so firm, so true,
My throat swells at the sight of you,
Old Flag.
What of the men who lifted you, Old Flag,
Upon the top of Bunker Hill,
Who crushed the Britons' cruel will,
'Mid shock and roar and crash and scream,
Who crossed the Delaware's frozen stream,
Who starved, who fought, who bled, who died,
That you might float in glorious pride,
Old Flag?
What of the women brave and true, Old Flag,
Who, while the cannon thundered wild,
Sent forth a husband, lover, child,
Who labored in the field by day,
Who, all the night long, knelt to pray,
And thought that God great mercy gave,
If only freely you might wave,
Old Flag?
What is your mission now, Old Flag?
What but to set all people free,
To rid the world of misery,
To guard the right, avenge the wrong,
And gather in one joyful throng
Beneath your folds in close embrace
All burdened ones of every race,
Old Flag.
Right nobly do you lead the way, Old Flag.
Your stars shine out for liberty,
Your white stripes stand for purity,
Your crimson claims that courage high
For honor's sake to fight and die.
Lead on against the alien shore!
We'll follow you, e'en to Death's door,
Old Flag!

ABRAHAM LINCOLN
R. H. Stoddard

THIS man whose homely face you look upon,
Was one of Nature's masterful, great men;
Born with strong arms that unfought victories won,
Direct of speech, and cunning with the pen,
Chosen for large designs, he had the art
Of winning with his humor, and he went
Straight to his mark, which was the human heart;
Wise, too, for what he could not break he bent.
Upon his back a more than Atlas' load
The burden of the Commonwealth was laid;
He stooped, and rose up with it, though the road
Shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed.
Hold, warriors, councillors, kings! All now give place
To this dead Benefactor of the Race!

ABRAHAM LINCOLN
William Cullen Bryant

This ode was written for the Funeral Services held in New York City.

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 husheth all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.
Thy task is done; the bonds are free;
We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.
Pure was thy life; its bloody close
Has placed thee with the Sons of Light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Alice Cary

INSCRIBED TO "PUNCH"

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 ploughman 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 external forms—
The shrifts that courtiers put their bodies through,
Were alien ways to him—his brawny arms
Had other work than posturing to do!
Born of the people, well he knew to grasp
The wants and wishes of the weak and small;
Therefore we hold him with no shadowy clasp—
Therefore his name is household to us all.
Therefore we love him with a love apart
From any fawning love of pedigree—
His was the royal soul and mind and heart—
Not the poor outward shows of royalty.
Forgive us then, O friends, if we are slow
To meet your recognition of his worth—
We're jealous of the very tears that flow
From eyes that never loved a humble hearth.

[YOUR FLAG AND MY FLAG]

Wilbur D. Nesbit

YOUR Flag and my Flag,
And how it flies today
In your land and my land
And half the world away!
Rose-red and blood-red
The stripes forever gleam;
Snow-white and soul-white—
The good forefather's dream;
Sky-blue and true-blue, with stars to gleam aright—
The gloried guidon of the day; a shelter through the night.
Your Flag and my Flag!
And, oh, how much it holds—
Your land and my land—
Secure within its folds!
Your heart and my heart
Beat quicker at the sight;
Sun-kissed and wind-tossed,
Red and blue and white.
The one Flag—the great Flag—the Flag for me and you—
Glorified all else beside—the red and white and blue!
Your Flag and my Flag!
To every star and stripe
The drums beat as hearts beat
And fifers shrilly pipe!
Your Flag and my Flag—
A blessing in the sky;
Your hope and my hope—
It never hid a lie!
Home land and far land and half the world around,
Old Glory hears our glad salute and ripples to the sound!

THE DEATH OF LINCOLN

Charles G. Halpin

HE FILLED the nation's eye 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.
He was his country's, not his own;
He had no wish but for her weal;
Not for himself could think or feel,
But as a laborer for her throne.
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.
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.

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

Walt Whitman

Abraham Lincoln was killed by John Wilkes Booth, almost exactly four years after the first shot was fired at Fort Sumter. This song and Edwin Markham's poem on Lincoln are two of the greatest tributes ever paid to that hero.

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! Our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead!
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here, Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Joel Benton

SOME opulent force of genius, soul, and race,
Some deep life-current from far centuries
Flowed to his mind and lighted his sad eyes,
And gave his name, among great names, high place.
But these are miracles we may not trace,
Nor say why from a source and lineage mean
He rose to grandeur never dreamt or seen
Or told on the long scroll of history's space.
The tragic fate of one broad hemisphere
Fell on stern days to his supreme control,
All that the world and liberty held dear
Pressed like a nightmare on his patient soul.
Martyr beloved, on whom, when life was done,
Fame looked, and saw another Washington!

ON THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Richard Watson Gilder

THIS bronze doth keep the very form and mold
Of our great martyr's face. Yes, this is he:
That brow all wisdom, all benignity;
That human humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold
Like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold;
That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea
For storms to beat on; the lone agony
Those silent, patient lips too well foretold.
Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men
As might some prophet of the elder day—
Brooding above the tempest and the fray
With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken.
A power was his beyond the touch of art
Or armed strength—his pure and mighty heart.

[ABRAHAM LINCOLN]

James Russell Lowell

This is a fragment of the noble Commemoration Ode delivered at Harvard College to the memory of those of its students who fell in the war which kept the country whole.

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 this 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 moulds 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.
* * * * *
I praise him not; it were too late;
And some innative weakness there must be
In him who condescends to victory
Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait,
Safe in himself as in a fate.
So always firmly he:
He knew to bide his time,
And can his fame abide,
Still patient in his simple faith sublime,
Till the wise years decide.
Great captains, with their guns and drums,
Disturb our judgment for the hour,
But at last silence comes;
These all are gone, and, standing like a tower,
Our children shall behold his fame.
The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man,
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame,
New birth of our new soil, the first American.

[OUR ABRAHAM]

OUT of the mellow West there came
A man whom neither praise nor blame
Could gild or tarnish; one who rose
With fate-appointed swiftness far
Above his friends, above his foes;
Whose life shone like a splendid star,
To fill his people's hearts with flame;
Who never sought for gold or fame;
But gave himself without a price—
A willing, humble sacrifice—
An erring Nation's Paschal Lamb—
The great, gaunt, patient Abraham.
I never saw his wrinkled face,
Where tears and smiles disputed place;
I never touched his homely hand,
That seemed in benediction raised,
E'en when it emphasized command,
What time the fires of battle blazed,
The hand that signed the act of grace
Which freed a wronged and tortured race;
And yet I feel that he is mine—
My country's; and that light divine
Streams from the saintly oriflamme
Of great, gaunt, patient Abraham.
He was our standard-bearer; he
Caught up the thread of destiny,
And round the breaking Union bound
And wove it firmly. To his task
He rose gigantic; nor could sound
Of menace daunt him. Did he ask
For homage when glad Victory
Followed his flags from sea to sea?
Nay, but he staunched the wounds of war;
And you owe all you have and are—
And I owe all I have and am
To great, gaunt, patient Abraham.
The pillars of our temple rocked
Beneath the mighty wind that shocked
Foundations that the fathers laid;
But he upheld the roof and stood
Fearless, while others were afraid;
His sturdy strength and faith were good,
While coward knees together knocked,
And traitor hands the door unlocked,
To let the unbeliever in.
He bore the burden of our sin,
While the rebel voices rose to damn
The great, gaunt, patient Abraham.
And then he died a martyr's death—
Forgiveness in his latest breath,
And peace upon his dying lips.
He died for me; he died for you;
Heaven help us if his memory slips
Out of our hearts! His soul was true
And clean and beautiful. What saith
Dull history that reckoneth
But coldly? That he was a man
Who loved his fellows as few can;
And that he hated every sham—
Our great, gaunt, patient Abraham.
Majestic, sweet, was Washington;
And Jefferson was like the sun—
He glorified the simplest thing
He touched; and Andrew Jackson seems
The impress of a fiery king
To leave upon us: these in dreams
Are oft before us; but the one
Whose vast work was so simply done—
The Lincoln of our war-tried years—
Has all our deepest love; in tears,
We chant the In Memoriam
Of great, gaunt, patient Abraham.

[LINCOLN, THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE][D]

Edwin Markham

This poem, which is considered one of the two best tributes ever paid to Lincoln, the other being Walt Whitman's O Captain! My Captain! is a tremendously virile and earnest summing up of the meaning of the man (Lincoln) and his life; a lesson in patriotism and a masterful piece of hero worship.

WHEN the Norn-Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour
Greatening and darkening as it hurried on,
She left the Heaven of Heroes 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;
Tempered the heap with thrill of mortal tears;
Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff.
It was a stuff to hold against the world,
A man to match our mountains, and compel
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 the 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,
Wrenching the rafters from their ancient hold,
He held the ridgepole 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.

[D] From Lincoln and Other Poems by Edwin Markham. By permission of The McClure Company and the author. Copyright, 1901, by Edwin Markham.

This poem was revised by Mr. Markham especially for use in this book. Copyright, 1908, by Edwin Markham. Reprinting in whatever form is expressly forbidden, unless through special permission of the author.

[ABRAHAM LINCOLN]

Tom Taylor[E]

YOU lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier,
You, who with mocking pencil wont to trace,
Broad for the 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 mourner at his head and feet,
Say, scurril-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 learned 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 turns the lumberer's axe,
The rapid that o'erbears the boatman's toil,
The prairie hiding the mazed wanderer's tracks,
The ambushed Indian, and the prowling bear—
Such were the deeds 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 changed 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 darkling 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.

[E] The authorship of this poem seems to be surrounded by somewhat of a doubt. Mark Lemon, editor of Punch at the time when this was written, is sometimes accredited with writing the tribute; then again, Spielman's History of Punch ascribes it to Shirley Brooks, who also was editor of Punch for a few years.

The poem first appeared anonymously in the London Punch, May 6, 1865. Accompanying it was an engraving of Brittania mourning at Lincoln's bier and placing a wreath thereon. Columbia was represented as weeping at the head of the President, and at the foot of the bier was a slave with broken shackles. Underneath was the inscription, "Brittania sympathizes with Columbia."

It is now generally believed that the author of the famous tribute was the journalist and dramatist, Tom Taylor, the author of the comedy, Our American Cousin, a performance of which President Lincoln was witnessing at the time of his assassination.

[LINCOLN]

Henry Tyrrell

LINCOLN arose! the masterful, great man,
Girt with rude grandeur, quelling doubt and fear,—
A more than king, yet in whose veins there ran
The red blood of the people, warm, sincere,
Blending of Puritan and Cavalier.
A will whose force stern warriors came to ask,
A heart that melted at a mother's tear—
These brought he to his superhuman task:
Over a tragic soul he wore a comic mask.
He was the South's child more than of the North!
His soul was not compact of rock and snow,
But such as old Kentucky's soil gives forth,—
The splendid race of giants that we know,
Firm unto friend, and loyal unto foe,
Such birthrights all environment forestall,
Resistlessly their tides of impulse flow.
This man who answered to his country's call
Was full of human faults, and nobler for them all.
He is a life, and not a legend, yet:
For thousands live who shook him by the hand,
Millions whose sympathies with his were set,
Whose hopes and griefs alike with his were grand,
Who deeply mourned his passing. They demand
Our homage to the greatest man they saw,—
They, his familiars; and throughout our land
The years confirm them, over race and law:
Even of rancor now the voice is hush'd in awe.

[THE BLUE AND THE GRAY]

Francis Miles Finch

The women of Columbus, Mississippi, had shown themselves impartial in the offerings made to the memory of the dead. They strewed flowers alike on the graves of the Confederates and of the National soldiers.

BY THE flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the one, the Blue;
Under the other, the Gray.
These in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat;
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the laurel, the Blue;
Under the willow, the Gray.
From the silence of sorrowful hours,
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers,
Alike for the friend and the foe;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the roses, the Blue;
Under the lilies, the Gray.
So, with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue,
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.
So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Wet with the rain, the Blue;
Wet with the rain, the Gray.
Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done;
In the storm of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue;
Under the garlands, the Gray.
No more shall the war cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever,
When they laurel the graves of our dead.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.

[LINCOLN: A MAN CALLED OF GOD]

John Mellen Thurston

Extract from an address delivered before the Chicago Lincoln Association, February 12, 1891.

GOD'S providence has raised up a leader in every time of a people's exceeding need.

Moses, reared in the family of Pharaoh, initiated in the sublime mysteries of the priestcraft of Egypt, partaking of the power and splendor of royal family and favor, himself a ruler and almost a king, was so moved by the degraded and helpless condition of his enslaved brethren that for their sake he undertook what to human understanding seemed the impossible problem of deliverance....

A peasant girl, a shepherdess, dreaming on the hills of France, feels her simple heart burn with the story of her country's wrongs. Its army beaten, shattered and dispersed; its fields laid waste; its homes pillaged and burned; its people outraged and murdered; its prince fleeing for life before a triumphant and remorseless foe. Hope for France was dead. Heroes, there were none to save. What could a woman do?

Into the soul of this timid, unlettered mountain maid there swept a flood of glorious resolve. Some power, unknown to man, drew back the curtain from the glass of fate and bade her look therein. As in a vision, she sees a new French army, courageous, hopeful, victorious, invincible. A girl, sword in hand, rides at its head; before it the invaders flee. She sees France restored, her fields in bloom, her cottages in peace, her people happy, her prince crowned.

The rail-splitter of Illinois became President of the United States in the darkest hour of the nation's peril. Inexperienced and untrained in governmental affairs, he formulated national politics, overruled statesmen, directed armies, removed generals, and, when it became necessary to save the Republic, set at naught the written Constitution. He amazed the politicians and offended the leaders of his party; but the people loved him by instinct, and followed him blindly. The child leads the blind man through dangerous places, not by reason of controlling strength and intelligence, but by certainty of vision. Abraham Lincoln led the nation along its obscure pathway, for his vision was above the clouds, and he stood in the clear sunshine of God's indicated will.

So stands the mountain while the murky shadows thicken at its base, beset by the tempest, lashed by the storm, darkness and desolation on every side; no gleam of hope in the lightning's lurid lances, nor voice of safety in the crashing thunder-bolts; but high above the top-most mist, vexed by no wave of angry sound, kissed by the sun of day, wooed by the stars at night, the eternal summit lifts its snowy crest, crowned with the infinite serenity of peace.

"And God said—let there be light, and there was light." Light on the ocean, light on the land.

"And God said—let there be light, and there was light." Light from the cross of calvary, light from the souls of men.

"And God said—let there be light, and there was light'." Light from the emancipation proclamation, light on the honor of the nation, light on the Constitution of the United States, light on the black faces of patient bondmen, light on every standard of freedom throughout the world.

From the hour in which the cause of the Union became the cause of liberty, from the hour in which the flag of the Republic became the flag of humanity, from the hour in which the stars and stripes no longer floated over a slave; yea, from the sacred hour of the nation's new birth, that dear old banner never faded from the sky, and the brave boys who bore it never wavered in their onward march to victory....

After a quarter of a century of peace and prosperity, all children of our common country kneel at the altar of a reunited faith. The Blue and Gray lie in eternal slumber side by side. Heroes all, they fell face to face, brother against brother, to expiate a nation's sin. The lonely firesides and the unknown graves, the memory of the loved, the yearning for the lost, the desolated altars and the broken hopes, are past recall. The wings of our weak protests beat in vain against the iron doors of fate. But through the mingled tears that fall alike upon the honored dead of both, the North and South turn hopeful eyes to that new future of prosperity and power, possible only in the shelter of the dear old flag. To the conquerors and the conquered, to the white man and the black, to the master and the slave, Abraham Lincoln was God's providence.

[JONATHAN TO JOHN]

James Russell Lowell

This poetic effusion of Mr. Hosea Biglow was preceded by the Idyl of the Bridge and the Monument, which set forth another side of American feeling at the British words and deeds consequent on the unauthorized capture, by Commodore Wilkes, of the Trent, conveying to England two Confederate Commissioners.

IT DON'T seem hardly right, John,
When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight, John—
Your cousin, tu, John Bull!
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
We know it now," sez he,
"The lion's paw is all the law,
Accordin' to J. B.,
Thet's fit for you an' me!"
You wonder why we're hot, John?
Your mark wuz on the guns,
The neutral guns, thet shot, John,
Our brothers an' our sons:
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
There's human blood," sez he,
"By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts,
Though 't may surprise J. B.
More'n it would you an' me."
Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
On your front-parlor stairs,
Would it jest meet your views, John,
To wait and sue their heirs?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
I only guess," sez he,
"Thet ef Vattel on his toes fell,
'T would kind o' rile J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
Who made the law thet hurts, John,
Heads I win,—ditto tails?
"J. B." was on his shirts, John,
Onless my memory fails.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
(I'm good at thet)," sez he,
"Thet sauce for goose ain't jest the juice
For ganders with J. B.,
No more than you or me!"
When your rights was our wrongs, John,
You didn't stop for fuss,—
Britanny's trident prongs, John,
Was good 'nough law for us.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
Though physic's good," sez he,
"It doesn't foller that he can swaller
Prescriptions signed 'J. B.,'
Put up by you an' me!"
We own the ocean, tu, John:
You mus'n' take it hard,
If we can't think with you, John,
It's jest your own back-yard.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
If thet's his claim," sez he,
"The fencin'-stuff 'll cost enough
To bust up friend J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
Why talk so dreffle big, John,
Of honor when it meant
You didn't care a fig, John,
But jest for ten per cent?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
He's like the rest," sez he:
"When all is done, it's number one
Thet's nearest to J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
We give the critters back, John,
Cos Abram thought 't was right;
It warn't your bullyin' clack, John,
Provokin' us to fight.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
We've a hard row," sez he,
"To hoe jest now; but thet somehow,
May happen to J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
We ain't so weak an' poor, John,
With twenty million people,
An' close to every door, John,
A school-house an' a steeple.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
It is a fact," sez he,
"The surest plan to make a Man
Is, think him so, J. B.,
Ez much ez you an' me!"
Our folks believe in Law, John;
An' it's for her sake, now,
They've left the ax an' saw, John,
The anvil an' the plough.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
Ef 't warn't for law," sez he,
"There'd be one shindy from here to Indy;
An' thet don't suit J. B.
(When 't ain't twixt you an' me!)"
We know we've got a cause, John,
Thet's honest, just an' true;
We thought 't would win applause, John,
Ef nowheres else, from you.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
His love of right," sez he,
"Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton:
There's nature in J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"
The South says, "Poor folks down!" John,
An' "All men up!" say we,—
White, yaller, black, an' brown, John:
Now which is your idee?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
John preaches wal," sez he;
"But, sermon thru, an' come to du,
Why, there's the old J. B.
A crowdin' you an' me!"
Shall it be love, or hate, John,
It's you thet's to decide;
Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John,
Like all the world's beside?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
Wise men forgive," sez he,
"But not forget; an' some time yet
Thet truth may strike J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an me!"
God means to make this land, John,
Clear thru, from sea to sea,
Believe an' understand, John,
The wuth o' bein' free.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
God's price is high," sez he:
"But nothin' else than wut He sells
Wears long, an' thet J. B.
May larn, like you an' me!"

[NO SLAVE BENEATH THE FLAG]

George Lansing Taylor

NO SLAVE beneath that starry flag,
The emblem of the free!
No fettered hand shall wield the brand
That smites for liberty:
No tramp of servile armies
Shall shame Columbia's shore,
For he who fights for freedom's rights
Is free for evermore!
* * * * *
Go tell the brave of every land,
Where'er that flag has flown—
The tyrant's fear, the patriot's cheer,
Through every clime and zone—
That now no more forever
Its stripes are slavery scars;
No tear-drops stain its azure plain
Nor dim its golden stars.
No slave beneath that grand old flag!
Forever let it fly,
With lightning rolled in every fold,
And flashing victory!
God's blessing breathe around it!
And when all strife is done,
May freedom's light, that knows no night,
Make every star a sun!

[TRIBUTES TO LINCOLN]

Grave Lincoln came, strong-handed, from afar—
The mighty Homer of the lyre of war!
'T was 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 Heav'n already knew,
And wrote thee down among the treasured few!

—Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1899

From humble parentage and poverty, old Nature reared him,
And the world beheld her ablest, noblest man;
Few were his joys, many and terrible his trials,
But grandly he met them as only truly great souls can!
Our Nation's Martyr, pure, honest, patient, tender—
Thou who didst suffer agony e'en for the slave—
Our flag's defender, our brave, immortal teacher!
I lay this humble tribute on thy honored grave.

—Paul DeVere, 1899

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

—John G. Whittier

His patriotism, his integrity, his purity, his moderation will contribute largely to make the American people patriotic, honest, and upright.... His life, his teaching, and his character will prolong the life of the Republic.

—Isaac N. Arnold

His mind was strong and deep, sincere and honest, patient and enduring: having no vices, and having only negative defects, with many positive virtues. His is a strong, honest, sagacious, manly, noble life. He stands in the foremost ranks of men in all ages—their equal—one of the best types of this Christian civilization.

—W. H. Herndon

There is in the whole history of this Republic not one man, from whom we all—wherever born and whatever our political opinions—can learn more instructive and more inspiring lessons as to what true patriotism is: and there is but one who is fully his peer in this respect. To be pitied is, indeed, the American whose way of feeling and thinking will not allow him to look with infinite patriotic pride upon Abraham Lincoln.

—H. E. VonHolst

Lincoln was the grandest figure of the fiercest civil war.... Wealth could not purchase, power could not awe, this divine, this loving man. He knew no fear except the fear of doing wrong. Hating slavery, pitying the master—seeking to conquer not persons, but prejudices. He was the embodiment of the self-denial, the courage, the hope, and the nobility of the nation. He spoke, not to inflame, not to upbraid, but to convince. He raised his hands, not to strike, but in benediction.

—Robert G. Ingersoll

Lincoln was the humblest of the humble before his conscience, greatest of the great before history.

—Castelar

Abraham Lincoln was the vindication of poverty. He gave glory to the lowly. In the light of his life the cabin became conspicuous; the commonest toil no longer common, and the poor man's hardship a road to honor. It put shame on the prejudice of wealth and birth, and dignity on common manhood. The poor received from him inspiring hope; he taught the humblest youth that there was for him a path to power.

—Luther Laflin Mills

May one who fought in honor for the South
Uncovered stand and sing by Lincoln's grave?
* * * * *
He was the North, the South, the East, the West,
The thrall, the master, all of us in one;
There was no section that he held the best;
His love shone as impartial as the sun;
And so revenge appealed to him in vain,
He smiled at it, as at a thing forlorn,
And gently put it from him, rose and stood
A moment's space in pain,
Remembering the prairies and the corn
And the glad voices of the field and wood.

—Maurice Thompson, 1893

They bowed before the bier of him who had been prophet, priest and king to his people, who had struck the shackles from the slave, who had taught a higher sense of duty to the free men, who had raised the Nation to a loftier conception of faith and hope and charity.

—James G. Blaine

His was a name so pure, a life so grand,
That Lincoln's a magic name throughout the land.

—Jos. C. Sindelar

In his mentality, he shone in judgment, common sense, consistency, persistence and in knowledge of men. In his words, he was candid and frank, but accurate and concise, speaking sturdy Anglo-Saxon unadorned, powerful in its simplicity and the subdued enthusiasm of earnest thought. In his sentiments, he was kind and patient and brave. No leader ever more completely combined in his personality the graces of gentleness with rugged determination. In his morals, Truth was his star; Honesty the vital air of his living. In his religion, he was faithful as a giant; Providence was his stay; he walked with God.

—Luther Laflin Mills

His constant thought was his country and how to serve it.

—Charles Sumner

His career teaches young men that every position of eminence is open before the diligent and worthy.

—Bishop Matthew Simpson

Such a life and character will be treasured forever as the sacred possession of the American people and of mankind.

—James A. Garfield

By his fidelity to the True, the Right, the Good, he gained not only favor and applause, but what is better than all, love.

—W. D. Howells

He was warm-hearted; he was generous; he was magnanimous, he was most truly, as he afterwards said on a memorable occasion, "With malice toward none, with charity for all."

—Alexander H. Stephens

Let us build with reverent hands to the type of this simple, but sublime life, in which all types are honored.

—Henry W. Grady

Lincoln was the purest, the most generous, the most magnanimous of men.

—General W. T. Sherman

His chief object, the ideal to which his whole soul was devoted, was the preservation of the Union.

—Alexander H. Stephens

O honest face, which all men knew!
O tender heart, but known to few!

—R. H. Stoddard

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

—Phoebe Cary

Lincoln was the greatest President in American history, because in a time of revolution he comprehended the spirit of American institutions.

—Lyman Abbott

He was one of the few great rulers whose wisdom increased with his power, and whose spirit grew gentler and tenderer as his triumphs were multiplied.

—James A. Garfield

With all his disappointments from failures on the part of those to whom he had trusted command, and treachery on the part of those who had gained his confidence but to betray it, I never heard him utter a complaint, nor cast a censure for bad conduct or bad faith. It was his nature to find excuses for his adversaries. In his death the nation lost its greatest hero.

—U. S. Grant

The best way to estimate the value of Lincoln is to think what the condition of America would be today if he had never lived—never been President.

—Walt Whitman

He had a face and manner which disarmed suspicion, which inspired confidence, which confirmed good will.

—R. W. Emerson

The life of Lincoln should never be passed by in silence by old or young. He touched the log cabin and it became the palace in which greatness was nurtured. He touched the forest and it became to him a church in which the purest and noblest worship of God was observed. In Lincoln there was always some quality which fastened him to the people and taught them to keep time to the music of his heart. He reveals to us the beauty of plain backwoods honesty.

—Prof. David Swing

The shepherd of the people! that old name that the best rulers ever craved. What ruler ever won it like this dead President of ours? He fed us with counsel when we were in doubt, with inspiration when we faltered, with caution when we would be rash, with calm, trustful cheerfulness through many an hour when our hearts were dark. He fed hungry souls all over the country with sympathy and consolation. He spread before the whole land feasts of great duty, devotion and patriotism, on which the land grew strong. He taught us the sacredness of government, the wickedness of treason. He made our souls glad and vigorous with the love of liberty that was his.

—Rev. Phillips Brooks

QUOTATIONS FROM LINCOLN

WITH malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan; to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

I have one vote, and I shall always cast that against wrong as long as I live.

In every event of life, it is right makes might.

The mystic cords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the angels of our nature.

Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.

Gold is good in its place; but loving, brave, patriotic men are better than gold.

God must like common people, or he would not have made so many of them.

The reasonable man has long since agreed that intemperance is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, of all evils among mankind.

The purposes of the Almighty are perfect and must prevail, though we erring mortals may fail accurately to predict them in advance.

No men living are more worthy to be trusted than those who toil up from poverty.

Of the people, when they rise in mass in behalf of the Union and the liberties of their country, truly may it be said: 'The gates of hell cannot prevail against them.'

No man is good enough to govern another man without that other man's consent.

Let not him who is homeless pull down the house of another, but let him labor diligently to build one for himself.

You may fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.

Better give your path to the dog—even killing the dog would not cure the bite.

The way for a young man to rise is to improve himself in every way he can, never suspecting that anybody is hindering him.

I say "try," for if we never try, we never succeed.

The pioneer in any movement is not generally the best man to bring that movement to a successful issue.

Have confidence in yourself, a valuable if not indispensable quality.

Let us judge not, that we be not judged.

When you have an elephant on hand, and he wants to run away, better let him run.

It is best not to swap horses in the middle of a stream.

This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it.

A nation may be said to consist of its territory, its people, and its laws.

When you can't remove an obstacle, plough around it!

God bless my mother! All I am or hope to be I owe to her.

I do not think much of a man who is not wiser today than he was yesterday.

Suspicion and jealousy never did help any man in any situation.

[DIALOGUES, PLAYS, EXERCISES]

[THE SAVIOR OF OUR FLAG AND COUNTRY]

Laura R. Smith

A PATRIOTIC CANTATA, DRILL, AND MEDLEY IN THREE SCENES FOR A WHOLE SCHOOL

This entertainment is especially adapted for primary and intermediate grades, although pupils of all grades may participate.

CHARACTERS

SCENE I—Before the War

Six Sailor Boys enter from the right, Six Soldier Boys enter from the left. They march forward in two lines, carrying flags, pause and sing. Cross flags or wave them while singing the last four lines.

Sailor and Soldier Boys (sing):

Tune: COLUMBIA, THE GEM OF THE OCEAN

The flag of our nation we're bringing,
The banner for me and for you;
As songs of dear Lincoln we're singing,
We stand 'neath the Red, White and Blue,
O flag of a nation united,
We love your bright folds and your stars,
We march 'neath the bonnie bright banner,
This good land of freedom is ours.
We'll stand by the Red, White and Blue,
We'll stand by the Red, White and Blue,
The flag of our nation forever,
We'll stand by the Red, White and Blue!
See, the bonnie bright banners are streaming,
We wave them all high in the air,
The Red, White and Blue now is gleaming,
Beloved by all men everywhere.
Oh, long may the banner be waving,
Upheld by soldiers and sailors true;
Three cheers for the flag of our nation,
We'll stand by the Red, White and Blue,
We'll stand by the Red, White and Blue,
We'll stand by the Red, White and Blue,
The flag of our nation forever,
We'll stand by the Red, White and Blue.

(Boys march forward and back, Soldiers in one line abreast, Sailors in another, following. Lines march right and left, Sailors from one side of stage, Soldiers from the other, pass each other several times at center of stage. Halt at center of stage, the two lines facing each other, close ranks at back and spread out at front, forming an open triangle, thus [Greek: lambda].)

Soldiers:

We're the boys of the land!
We'll always be true
To the flag of the Union,
The Red, White and Blue.

Sailors:

We're the boys of the sea!
Wherever we sail
The Red, White and Blue
Shall weather each gale.

All (waving flags):

The boys of the land and the boys of the sea,
Sing a song for our banner, the flag of the free,
The Union forever, for me and for you,
Three cheers for our banner, the Red, White and Blue.

All (sing, waving flags during chorus):

HURRAH FOR THE FLAG! [F]

There are many flags in many lands,
There are flags of ev'ry hue,
But there is no flag, however grand,
Like our own Red, White and Blue.

Chorus: Then hurrah for the flag! our country's flag,
Its stripes and white stars, too;
There is no flag in any land
Like our own Red, White and Blue!

[F] By Mary H. Howliston. From Cat Tails and Other Tales, by this author, in which book music for words given here will be found. Price, paper binding, twenty-five cents; cloth binding, forty cents.

(Enter Messenger from the back, marches between the two lines to the front. Boys form in semicircle behind him.)

Messenger:

What threatens the Union
In this land of ours?
There appears a new flag,
Of the Stars and Bars.
"United we stand,
Divided we fall."
Who now can save us?
On whom shall we call?

First Soldier:

From Lincoln I have come today
Our Lincoln!
With justice he will take his place,
Our Lincoln!
With courage on his noble brow,
He will protect the Union now,
We all salute; to him we bow,
Our Lincoln!

(All give Flag Salute.)

Messenger:

From Lincoln I have come today
To call for Volunteers!
Other messengers are on their way
To call for Volunteers.
Shall we now see our flag bowed low?
No, to meet the Southerners we'll go,
Marching while the bugles blow
The call for Volunteers!

All:

The time has come for strife and war,
Blow, bugles, blow!
The soldier boys are called once more,
Blow, bugles, blow!
Bear your message far and wide,
Ring out through all the countryside,
We are a Nation's hope and pride,
Blow, bugles, blow!

(Exit All, as bugle call is heard.)

SCENE II—The War

Several boys with drums march in front of tents, which have been arranged on the stage. They sing, beating drums softly during chorus, and march around the tents.

Tune: MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA