Chapter 4

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.

Nancy Hanks Lincoln died October 5, 1818, aged thirty-five years. The design of this monument is by Thompson Stickle, and it was constructed by 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 National Lincoln Monument before it was reconstructed.

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

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

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

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

Harriet Monroe, born at Chicago, Illinois, December, 23, 1860. Graduated Visitation Academy, Georgetown, District Columbia, 1879. In December, 1889, was appointed to write text for cantata for opening of Chicago Auditorium in March, 1891. Was requested by Committee on Ceremonies of Chicago Exposition to write a poem for the dedication; her _Columbia Ode_ was read and sung at the dedicatory ceremonies on the 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 Plays in 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!

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.

James Whitcomb Riley was born in Greenfield, Indiana, about 1852. He was engaged in various pursuits until 1875, when he began to contribute verses of poetry to local papers in the Western district which gained wide popularity for him. His published works in dialect and 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. Studied law, and was admitted to the bar in 1867. He served as Captain and Assistant Adjutant General of U. S. Volunteers in 1861-5; was Editor of the _Philadelphia Press_ and President of the "Press" Publishing Co., 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.

"The charm which invested the life on the Eighth Circuit in the mind and fancy of Mr. Lincoln yet lingered there, even in the most responsible and glorious days of his administration; over and over again has the great President stolen an hour ... from his life of anxious care to live over again those bygone exhilarating and halcyon days ... 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 district school and he began teaching at the age of sixteen. After completing an academic course he went to Cornell University from which he was graduated with the degree of A.B. in 1885.

He at once became a teacher and after a few years started the first Current Topic paper in the state, _The Educator_. Later he edited a teachers' paper, _The World's Review_. Perhaps he is best known as publisher of the _Regents' Review Books_ used in nearly every school in 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.

This chair was used by Mr. Lincoln in his law office at Springfield, Illinois, where, before leaving for the City of Washington after his election as President, he wrote his Inaugural Address and formed his Cabinet, frequently conferring with his twenty-year law partner, William H. Herndon, on such matters, and adopting changes as suggested if he considered them advisable. It was presented to O. H. Oldroyd while 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 of Ballymahon, County Longford, Ireland, and two miles from Lissoy, County Westmeath, the home of Oliver Goldsmith--on the road between the two--August 15, 1848. Published _Poems_, 1888; _Songs of Two Peoples_, 1898, and _Christy of Rathglin_, a novel, in 1907. His poem _The American Flag_, has been rated often as the best poem written to our banner. Four lines on the loss of the Titanic brought from Captain Rostron words in which he said: "With such praise one feels on a higher 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.

Elizabeth Porter Gould, born June 8, 1848, died July 28, 1906. Essayist, lecturer and author; an early inspirer of woman's clubs and the pioneer of the _Current Events_ and _Topics_ classes in Boston and vicinity; an officer in several educational societies and honorary member of the Webster Historical Society, Castilian Club and other clubs where she had read many historical papers of great research and given many practical suggestions. Among her published works are _Gems From Walt Whitman_, _Anne Gilchrist and Walt Whitman_, _Ezekial Cheever, Schoolmaster_, _John Adams and Daniel Webster as Schoolmasters_, _A Pioneer Doctor_, _One's Self I Sing_ and _The Brownings and America_. She had great energy and force of character, and a capacity for friendship which was a source of great happiness to her 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.

His friends advised Lincoln to press his opponent on the Dred Scott decision (of the United States Supreme Court permitting slavery in the Territories), as Douglas would accept it, but argue for nullifying it by anti-slavery legislation in the territorial assemblies, and this would satisfy the people of Illinois, and elect him Senator. "All right," said Lincoln, "then that kills him in 1860. I am gunning for larger game."

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps was born in Andover, Massachusetts, on August 13, 1844. Educated at Andover. Her literary career began at the age of thirteen with contributions to the newspapers. The earlier years of her life were devoted to Christian labors among the poor families in Andover, but failing health finally prevented her from carrying on her labors along that line, and kept her within her study, but her sympathy was always enlisted in the reformatory questions of the day. _The Gates Ajar_ proved very popular, as did also her many juvenile books. She wrote this poem for the Lincoln Memorial Album in 1882. She died 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.

Mr. Lincoln was engaged in trying a case in the United States Court at Chicago, 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 your bust." "I will, Mr. Volk," replied Lincoln. This was the first time that Lincoln sat to an artist for the reproduction of his physique in this manner. Previous to this he had posed only for daguerreotypes or for 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 editor of a number of magazines and upon the death of J. G. Holland he was made associate editor of the _Century_. At the age of twenty-six he had attained high literary standing. His poems are published in five volumes. He rendered valuable service in tenement-house reform over the 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.

The Saturday after the nomination of Mr. Lincoln for President of the United States, the Committee appointed to inform him of the said nomination arrived in Springfield and performed this duty in the evening 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, Lincoln called his attention to a scar on his thumb. "You have heard me called the 'rail-splitter' haven't you?" he said, "Well, I used to split rails when I was a young man, and one day, while sharpening a wedge on a log, the axe glanced and nearly took off my thumb."

Edmund Clarence Stedman was born in Hartford, Connecticut, on the 8th of October, 1833. He entered Yale College at the age of sixteen and distinguished himself in Greek and English Composition. He was the editor of several papers in Connecticut and in 1856 removed to New York City--a larger field for his literary abilities. He was a contributor to _Vanity Fair_, _Putnam's Monthly_, _Harper's Magazine_ and other periodicals. His poems: _The Diamond Wedding_, _How Old John Brown Took Harper's Ferry_, _The Ballad of Lager-Bier_, gave him some reputation. He was war-correspondent for the _World_ during the early campaigns of the Army of the Potomac from the Headquarters of General Irwin 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.