Chapter 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

LINCOLN

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

Our pastoral captain. Forth he came, As one that answers to his name; Nor dreamed how high his charge, His work how fair and large,

To set the stones back in the wall Lest the divided house should fall, And peace from men depart, Hope and the childlike heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

President Lincoln and family attended this church during his Administration. The pew that they occupied is still preserved in its black walnut trimmings, though the rest of the sanctuary has been refurnished.

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

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

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

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

LINCOLN'S CHURCH IN WASHINGTON

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

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

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

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

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

SONNET IN 1862

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

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

LINCOLN, SOLDIER OF CHRIST

_From Macmillan's Magazine, England_

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

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

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

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

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

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

A CHARACTERIZATION OF LINCOLN

_From Lincoln Centenary Ode_

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

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

John Greenleaf Whittier, born December 17, 1807, in Haverhill, Massachusetts. He lived on a farm until he reached the age of eighteen, working a little at shoemaking and also writing poetry for the _Haverhill Gazette_. Later he became editor of a number of papers, and his poems in after life were full of patriotism and the love of human freedom, all of which attained a strong hold on the hearts of the people. He would have prevented war, if possible, with honor, but when war came he wrote in support of the Union cause, displaying no bitterness, and when the conflict was over he was most liberal and conciliatory. He was one of the most popular of poets. He died September 7, 1892.

THE EMANCIPATION GROUP

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE LIBERATOR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN

_January 1, 1863_

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

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

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

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

ON FREEDOM'S SUMMIT

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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 nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us,--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave their last full measure of devotion--that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom--and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

November 19, 1863. ABRAHAM LINCOLN.