Lincoln Day Entertainments. Various
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defied
And spurned the old flag; how the nation's defenders
At his call rallied and sprang to his side;
Tell how he suffered when news of the battle
Told of disaster, of wounded and dead;
Tell how his great noble heart was oft gladdened
When as proud victors our armies were led.
Tell them; yes, tell them the story and point them
Up to a standard he would applaud;
Loyal in life to the state and the nation,
True to one country, one flag and one God.
OLD FLAG
Hubbard Parker
WHAT shall I say to you, Old Flag?
You are so grand in every fold,
So linked with mighty deeds of old,
So steeped in blood where heroes fell,
So torn and pierced by shot and shell,
So calm, so still, so firm, so true,
My throat swells at the sight of you,
Old Flag.
What of the men who lifted you, Old Flag,
Upon the top of Bunker Hill,
Who crushed the Britons' cruel will,
'Mid shock and roar and crash and scream,
Who crossed the Delaware's frozen stream,
Who starved, who fought, who bled, who died,
That you might float in glorious pride,
Old Flag?
What of the women brave and true, Old Flag,
Who, while the cannon thundered wild,
Sent forth a husband, lover, child,
Who labored in the field by day,
Who, all the night long, knelt to pray,
And thought that God great mercy gave,
If only freely you might wave,
Old Flag?
What is your mission now, Old Flag?
What but to set all people free,
To rid the world of misery,
To guard the right, avenge the wrong,
And gather in one joyful throng
Beneath your folds in close embrace
All burdened ones of every race,
Old Flag.
Right nobly do you lead the way, Old Flag.
Your stars shine out for liberty,
Your white stripes stand for purity,
Your crimson claims that courage high
For honor's sake to fight and die.
Lead on against the alien shore!
We'll follow you, e'en to Death's door,
Old Flag!
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
R. H. Stoddard
THIS man whose homely face you look upon,
Was one of Nature's masterful, great men;
Born with strong arms that unfought victories won,
Direct of speech, and cunning with the pen,
Chosen for large designs, he had the art
Of winning with his humor, and he went
Straight to his mark, which was the human heart;
Wise, too, for what he could not break he bent.
Upon his back a more than Atlas' load
The burden of the Commonwealth was laid;
He stooped, and rose up with it, though the road
Shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed.
Hold, warriors, councillors, kings! All now give place
To this dead Benefactor of the Race!
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
William Cullen Bryant
This ode was written for the Funeral Services held in New York City.
OH, SLOW to smite and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust.
In sorrow by thy bier we stand
Amid the awe that husheth all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.
Thy task is done; the bonds are free;
We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.
Pure was thy life; its bloody close
Has placed thee with the Sons of Light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Alice Cary
INSCRIBED TO "PUNCH"
NO GLITTERING chaplet brought from other lands!
As in his life, this man, in death, is ours;
His own loved prairies o'er his "gaunt, gnarled hands"
Have fitly drawn their sheet of summer flowers!
What need hath he now of a tardy crown,
His name from mocking jest and sneer to save?
When every ploughman turns his furrow down
As soft as though it fell upon his grave.
He was a man whose like the world again
Shall never see, to vex with blame or praise;
The landmarks that attest his bright, brief reign
Are battles, not the pomps of gala days!
The grandest leader of the grandest war
That ever time in history gave a place;
What were the tinsel flattery of a star
To such a breast! or what a ribbon's grace!
'Tis to th' man, and th' man's honest worth, The nation's loyalty in tears upsprings; Through him the soil of labor shines henceforth High o'er the silken broideries of kings. The mechanism of external forms— The shrifts that courtiers put their bodies through, Were alien ways to him—his brawny arms Had other work than posturing to do! Born of the people, well he knew to grasp The wants and wishes of the weak and small; Therefore we hold him with no shadowy clasp— Therefore his name is household to us all. Therefore we love him with a love apart From any fawning love of pedigree— His was the royal soul and mind and heart— Not the poor outward shows of royalty. Forgive us then, O friends, if we are slow To meet your recognition of his worth— We're jealous of the very tears that flow From eyes that never loved a humble hearth.
YOUR FLAG AND MY FLAG
Wilbur D. Nesbit
YOUR Flag and my Flag,
And how it flies today
In your land and my land