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A Tribute To Lincoln

A Tribute To Lincoln image
Parent Issue
Day
1
Month
June
Year
1883
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

At the re-union of the Army of the Potomae keld In Washington on the 16th and 17tli o iliay, George Alfred Townsend delivered the following poem, the reading of which was f re quently interrupted by storms of applause. Civil eoldiers, reaseembled by the river of you fame, Te who saw the Virgin City bathod in Wash ington's clear mime, Which of all your past commanders doth this day your memory haunt, Seott, McDowell, Burnside, Hooker, Meade McClellan, Hulleck, ürantï Tliere is one too lit.tle mentioned when your proud reunious como, ind the thoughtf ui love of country dies upon the Bounding drum ; Let me cali him in your muster, let me wake him in your grief, Captain by the constitution, Abram Lincoln was your chief. Ever nearest to his person, ye were his def ense and shield. He alone of your commanders died upon tbc battlefleld. All your generala were his children leaning on him, childish-willed, And they all wcre filial mourners 'round the mighty tomb he fiUed. Tender as the harp of David .his Boft answers now become, When amid the cares of kingdoms rose and fel some Absalom; And his humor gilds his memory like a light witbls a tent, Or the sunken eun that lingers on the lofty monnment. Let the slave that sawthe sunrisewith his face toward the west, . As it flashed as vet 'twas hidden on a slender 6teeple's erest; So while Victory turned her from him ere the dawn in welcome carne, On his pen emancipatlonglittered like an altar fíame. Feeling for the doomed desertor, íeeliug for the drafted sire, For the empty northern hearthstone and the southern home afar ; Mercy kept him grim as Moloch, all the future babes to freo, And eternal peace to garner for the million6 yet to he. Not a soldier of the' classics, he could sec through 1 an ! pretenso, Master of the greaU-st scienco, military common sense. As he watched your marcaes,comrades, hither, thlther, wayward ycars iu his map the roads you followed you can trace them ty his tears. ín the rear the people clamored, in the front the generáis missed ; In his inner coueils harbored critic and antagonist, But he ruled them by an instinct like the queens among the bees, With a health of soul that honeyed PubHcans and Pharisoes. Faint of faithwelook behind us for a chief of high er tono, While the voicc that drowned the trumpets wcre the echo of our own. Ever tiras, my old companions, genius has us by the hand. Walking in the tempest vrith us.eyery crisis to command. Like the bugle blown at cveningby some homesick son of art. Lincoln's words uncarthly quivcr ín the Universal heart. Not an echo lef t of maliee, scarce of triumph ia the strain, As when sumnur thunder murmurs in pathetic showers of rain. Tears forever concentrated hcre he lived where duties bc, Never crying on the climate or the toil's monotony. Here his darling boy he buried and the night in vigü wepl, Like his Lordwithin the garden while his tired diciples slept, ÍIow iiis cali for men went ringing round the world like a bel]. And the races of creatlon came the proud revolt to quell. Standing in the last reactlon of the rock of human rights, Worn and mournful grew his f eatnres in the flash of battle lights. Once like Moses on the mountaiu looked he on the realm he won, When the blaves in burniug Eiehrnond knelt and tbough t him Washington Then an envious bravo snatcheü him from the theatre oí things To become a eaint oL nature in the pantheon of kings. ■ Fadcd are the golden chevrons, vaniBhed is the pride oí war, Mild in heaven his moral glory lingers like the morniug star. And the freemen's zone of cotton hls white spirit seems to be, And the insects in the harvest beat his armj's reveeille. All arounJ him spoiled or greedy, women vain and honor spent, Still his faith in human nature lived without disecuragement. For his country which could raise him barefoot to the inonarch's height, Could he mock her of his mother, thongh her name she could not write? Deep thp well6 of humble childhood, cool the spring beside the hut, Millions more as poor as Lincoln see the door he has not shut. Not till wealth has made its canker every poor white's eabin throueh, Shall the great republie wither or the infidel Bubdue. Stand around your great commander, lay aside your little fears; Eyery Lincoln carries freedom's car along a hundred years. And when next the cali for soldiers rolls along the golden belt, Look to see a mightier column rise and march, prevail and melt. _B. .

Article

Subjects
Old News
Ann Arbor Democrat