Lincoln
Gaunt, rough-hewn face, that bore the furrowed signs
Of days of conflict, nights of agony,
And still could soften to the gentler lines
Of one whose tenderness and truth went free
Beyond the pale of any small confines
To understand and help humanity.
Wise, steadfast mind, that grasped a people's need,
Counting nor pain nor sacrifice too great
To keep the noble purpose of his creed
Strong against all buffeting of Fate,
Though no least solace sprang of work or deed
For him, since triumph came at last—too late.
Brave, weary heart, that beat uncomforted
Beneath its heavy load of grief and care;
That tears of blood for every battle shed,
Yet called on mirth to help his comrades bear
The waiting hours of anguish, and that sped
With loyal haste each breath of balm to share.
Only his people's griefs were his; no part
Had he within their joy; nor his the toll
To know the love that made rebellion start,
Spurred hosts unnumbered to a higher goal;
That his great soul should cleanse a nation's heart,
His martyred heart awake a nation's soul.
CABIN OF LINCOLN'S PARENTS
on Goose-Nest Prairie, Illinois
The last home of the parents of Lincoln. Built by his father, Thomas, in 1831, near Farmington, Coles Co., Ill. The father died here in 1851 and the step-mother, Sarah Bush Lincoln, in 1869. After Lincoln was elected President in 1860, and before leaving for Washington to be inaugurated, he visited his mother in this cabin for the last time. As he was leaving her, she made a prediction of his tragic death. With arms about his neck, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she declared it was the last time she would ever see him alive, and it proved to be so.
Lincoln once said, "I was told that I never would make a lawyer if I did not understand what 'demonstrate' means. I left my situation in Springfield, went to my father's house, and stayed there till I could give any proposition in the six books of Euclid at sight. I there found out what demonstrate means."
LINCOLN HOMESTEAD, SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS
On Monday, February 11, 1861, Mr. Lincoln and family in company with a party left Springfield, Illinois, for Washington, D. C. A light rain mixed with snow was falling at the time which made the occasion a somewhat gloomy one. Mr. Lincoln appeared on the rear platform of the car where he bade farewell to his neighbors in the following address:
"My friends, no one not in my position can appreciate the sadness I feel at this parting. To this people I owe all that I am. Here I have lived more than a quarter of a century. Here my children were born, and here one of them lies buried.
"I know not how soon I shall see you again. A duty devolves upon me which is greater, perhaps, than that which has devolved upon any other man since the days of Washington. He never would have succeeded except for the aid of divine Providence, upon which he at all times relied.
"I feel that I cannot succeed without the same divine aid which sustained him; and on the same Almighty Being I place my reliance for support, and I hope you, my friends, will pray that I may receive the divine assistance, without which I cannot succeed, but with which success is certain. Again, I bid you an affectionate farewell."
Mr. Lincoln thought that there is a time to joke and pray; and if, as his detractors affirm, he joked all the way to Washington, if he did not pray also (as we believe he did, and fervently, too) he at least desired the prayers of others, as the circumstances recorded in the following poem will show. It is from the pen of a lady of Philadelphia, Mrs. Anna Bache.