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¨È§B©Ô¨u.ªLªÖ Abraham Lincoln¡@¡@¡@¡@Samuel Valentine Cole

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Whence came this man? As if on the wings
¡@¡@ Of the winds of God that blew!
He moved, undaunted, mid captians and kings,
¡@¡@ And, not having learned, he knew I
Was he son of the soil, or child of the sky?
¡@¡@ Or, pray, was he both? Ah me!
How little they dreamed, as the storm rolled high,
¡@¡@ What he was, and was to be!

When trembled the lamps of hopes, or quite
¡@¡@ Blew out in that furious gale,
He drew his light from the Larger Light
¡@¡@ Above him that did not fail:
Heaven-led all trials and perils among,
¡@¡@ As unto some splendid goal
He fared right onward, unflinching¡Xthis strong
¡@¡@ God-gifted, heroic soul!

We know him now how noble his part,
¡@¡@ And how clear was his vision then!
With the firmest hand and the kindliest heart
¡@¡@ Of them all¡Xthis master of men!
Of the pride of power or the lust of self,
¡@¡@ Oh never a taint we find:
He lost himself in the larger self
¡@¡@ Of his country and all mankind.

There are those called great, or good, by right
¡@¡@ But as long as the long roll is,
Not many the names, with the double light
¡@¡@ Of greatness and goodness like his.
Thrice happy the nation that holds him dear
¡@¡@ Who never can wholly die,
Never cease to bestow of his counsel and cheer,
¡@¡@ As the perilous years go by!

For after the trumpets have ceased to blow,
¡@¡@ And the banners are folded away,
And the stress and the splendor forgotten, we know,
¡@¡@ Of a truth, in that judgment day,
That whatso'er else, in the Stream that rolls,
¡@¡@ May sink and be utterly gone,
The souls of the men who were true to their souls
¡@¡@ Forever go marching on!

There are those whose like, it was somehow planned,
¡@¡@ We never again shall see;
But I would to God there were more in the land
¡@¡@ As true and as simple as he,¡X
As he who walked in our common ways,
¡@¡@ With the seal of a king on his brow;
Who lived as a man among men his days,
¡@¡@ And belongs to the ages now!

±F°Ç (Samuel Valentine Cole, 1851-1925) ¬ü°ê¸Ö¤H¡C

 

 

¨È§B©Ô¨u.ªLªÖ Abraham Lincoln¡@¡@¡@¡@William Cullen Bryant

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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 hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
¡@¡@ That shook with horror at thy fall.

Thy task is done; the bond 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
¡@¡@ Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
¡@¡@ Who perished in the cause of Right.

William Cullen Bryant

 


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