. The poets' Lincoln : tributes in verse to the martyred President. , level-lined,Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest of Europe here,Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still,Ere any names of Serf or Peer Could Natures equal scheme deface; Here was a type of the true elder race,And one of Plutarchs men talked with us face to face. THE POETS LINCOLN 191 I praise him not; it were too late; And some innative weakness there must beIn him who condescends to victorySuch as the present gives, and cannot wait,Safe in himself as in a f
. The poets' Lincoln : tributes in verse to the martyred President. , level-lined,Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest of Europe here,Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still,Ere any names of Serf or Peer Could Natures equal scheme deface; Here was a type of the true elder race,And one of Plutarchs men talked with us face to face. THE POETS LINCOLN 191 I praise him not; it were too late; And some innative weakness there must beIn him who condescends to victorySuch as the present gives, and cannot wait,Safe in himself as in a fate. So always firmly he;He knew to bide his time, And can his fame abide,Still patient in his simple faith sublime, Till the wise years captains, with their guns and drums, Disturb our judgment for the hour,But at last silence comes; These are all gone, and, standing like a tower,Our children shall behold his fame, The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man,Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, New birth of our new soil, the first STATUE OF LINCOLNBy Leonard W. Volk THE POETS LINCOLN 193 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD, bora in Hing-. ham, Massachusetts, July 2, 1825. His firstbook, entitled Foot Prints, was published in 1849,and some three years after a more mature collectionof poems was published. In later years a number ofhis books were published, all of which have beenreceived with approbation by the public. Died May12, 1903. AN HORATIAN ODE (To Lincoln) N OT as when some great captain fallsIn battle, where his country calls,Beyond the struggling linesThat push his dread designs To doom, by some stray ball struck dead:Or in the last charge, at the head Of his determined men, Who must be victors then! Nor as when sink the civic great, The safer pillars of the State, Whose calm, mature, wise wordsSuppress the need of swords! With no such tears as eer were shedAbove the noblest of our dead Do we today deplore The man that is no more. Our sorrow hath a
Size: 1238px × 2018px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookidpoetslincoln, bookyear1915
