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 emanc.i.p.ator 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 G.o.d 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.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Lincoln at Gettysburg]
ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE DEDICATION OF THE CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG
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 battlefield 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 thus far so n.o.bly 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 their last full measure of devotion--that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation, under G.o.d, shall have a new birth of freedom--and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
November 19, 1863. ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
"Undoubtedly there were many in the audience who fully appreciated the beauty of the President"s address, and many of those who read it on the following day perceived its wondrous character; but it is apparent that its full force and grandeur were not generally recognized then, either by its auditors or its readers. Not until the war had ended and the great leader had fallen did the nation realize that this speech had given to Gettysburg another claim to immortality and to American eloquence its highest glory."--From the monograph on the Gettysburg Address, 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 of December, 1878. His boyhood was pa.s.sed on a farm near Kennett. He learned to read at four, began to write at an early age, and from his twelfth year wrote poems, novels and historical essays, but mostly poems. In 1837 the family moved to Westchester, and there and at Unionville he had five years of high-school training. His first poem printed was contributed to the _Sat.u.r.day Evening Post_, in 1841, and those to the _New York Tribune_ from abroad, written in 1844, were widely read and shortly after his return were collected and published in _Views Afoot, or Europe Seen With Knapsack and Staff_. With a friend he bought a printing office in 1846, and began to publish the _Phoenixville Pioneer_, but it was as a poet that he excelled above most 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, n.o.ble as then, but now more sadly sweet: "Let us, the Living, rather dedicate Ourselves to the unfinished work, which they Thus far advanced so n.o.bly 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 G.o.d, 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 antic.i.p.ated; For, whatsoe"er the strain, We hear that one refrain: "We consecrate ourselves to them, the Consecrated!"
[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 on Wheels_, 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 poems are: _Isle of the Long Ago_, _Rhymes of the River_, and _The Old Village 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 n.o.blest 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 pa.s.s away: With charity for all, with malice toward none, With firmness in the right As G.o.d 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 G.o.d!" 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!
[Ill.u.s.tration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN
Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C.]
Hermann Hagedorn, born in New York, July 18, 1882. Instructor in English at Harvard in 1909-1911. Wrote several one-act plays which were produced by the Harvard Dramatic Club, and by clubs of other colleges. Author of _The Silver Blade_ (a play in verse), _The Woman of 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 sh.e.l.l, 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 h.e.l.l, He heard the thud of heroes as they fell.