. The poets' Lincoln : tributes in verse to the martyred President. , by blow on blow, Were forged the things that make us great;And men still live who bore that heat,And felt those deadly hammers beat. Not in the pampered courts of kings,Not in the homes that rich men keep, God calls His Davids with their slings,Or wakes His Samuels from their sleep; But from the homes of toil and need Calls those who serve as well as lead. Such was the hero of our race; Skilled in the school of common things,He felt the sweat on Labors face, He knew the pinch of want, the stingThe bondman felt, and all the w
. The poets' Lincoln : tributes in verse to the martyred President. , by blow on blow, Were forged the things that make us great;And men still live who bore that heat,And felt those deadly hammers beat. Not in the pampered courts of kings,Not in the homes that rich men keep, God calls His Davids with their slings,Or wakes His Samuels from their sleep; But from the homes of toil and need Calls those who serve as well as lead. Such was the hero of our race; Skilled in the school of common things,He felt the sweat on Labors face, He knew the pinch of want, the stingThe bondman felt, and all the wrongThe weak had suffered from the strong. God passed the waiting centuries by,And kept him for our time of need— To lead us with his courage high—To make our country free indeed; Then, that he be by none surpassed, God crowned him martyr at the last. Let speech and pen and song proclaimOur grateful praise this natal morn; Time hath preserved no nobler name,And generations yet unborn Shall swell the pride of those who can Claim Lincoln as their countryman. *n. HfhNM
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookidpoetslincoln, bookyear1915
