Lincoln

 Lincoln

With life unsullied from his youth,

He meekly took the ruler's rod,

And, wielding it in love and truth.

He lived, the noblest work of God.

He knew no fierce, unbalanced zeal.

That spurns all human differings.

Nor craven fear that shuns the steel

That carves the way to better things.

And in the night of blood and grief,

When horror rested on the ark,

His was the calm, undimmed belief

That felt God's presence in the dark;

Full well he knew each wandering star.

That once had decked the azure dome

Would tremble through the clouds of War,

And, like a prodigal, come home.

He perished ere the angel Peace

Had rolled war's curtains from the sky.

But he shall live when wars shall cease -

The good and great can never die;

For though his heart lies cold and still

We feel its beatings warm and grand.

And still his spirit pulses thrill

Through all the councils of the land.

Oh, for the hosts that sleep to-day.

Lulled by the sound of Southern waves;

The sun that lit them in the fray

Now warms the flowers upon their graves-

Sweet flowers that speak like words of love

Between the forms of friend and foe,

Perchance their spirits meet above,

Who crossed their battle-blades below.