_First Chronicler_: You who mark the flowing Of sap upon the May-time, And the waters welling From the watershed, You who count the growing Of harvest and hay-time, Knowing these the telling Of your daily bread; _Second Chronicler_: You who cherish courtesy With your fellows at your gate, And about your hearthstone sit Under love's decrees, You who know that death will be Speaking with you soon or late. _The two together_: Kinsmen, what is mother-wit But the light of these? Knowing these, what is there more For learning in your little years? Are not these all gospels bright Shining on your day? How then shall your hearts be sore With envy and her brood of fears, How forget the words of light From the mountain-way? ... Blessed are the merciful.... Does not every threshold seek Meadows and the flight of birds For compassion still? Blessed are the merciful.... Are we pilgrims yet to speak Out of Olivet the words Of knowledge and good-will? _First Chronicler_: Two years of darkness, and this man but grows Greater in resolution, more constant in compassion. He goes The way of dominion in pitiful, high-hearted fashion. SCENE III. _Nearly two years later_. _A small reception room at the White House_. MRS. LINCOLN, _dressed in a fashion perhaps a little too considered, despairing as she now does of any sartorial grace in her husband, and acutely conscious that she must meet this necessity of office alone, is writing. She rings the bell, and_ SUSAN, _who has taken her promotion more philosophically, comes in. Mrs. Lincoln_: Admit any one who calls, Susan. And enquire whether the President will be in to tea. _Susan_: Mr. Lincoln has just sent word that he will be in. _Mrs. Lincoln_: Very well. SUSAN _is going_. Susan. _Susan_: Yes, ma'am. _Mrs. Lincoln_: You still say Mr. Lincoln. You should say the President. _Susan_: Yes, ma'am. But you see, ma'am, it's difficult after calling him Mr. Lincoln for fifteen years. _Mrs. Lincoln_: But you must remember. Everybody calls him the President now. _Susan_: No, ma'am. There's a good many people call him Father Abraham now. And there's some that like him even better than that. Only to-day Mr. Coldpenny, at the stores, said, "Well, Susan, and how's old Abe this morning?" _Mrs. Lincoln_: I hope you don't encourage them. _Susan_: Oh, no, ma'am. I always refer to him as Mr. Lincoln. _Mrs. Lincoln_: Yes, but you must say the President. _Susan:_ I'm afraid I shan't ever learn, ma'am. _Mrs. Lincoln_: You must try. _Susan_: Yes, of course, ma'am. _Mrs. Lincoln_: And bring any visitors up. _Susan_: Yes, ma'am. There's a lady waiting now. _Mrs. Lincoln_: Then why didn't you say so? _Susan_: That's what I was going to, ma'am, when you began to talk about Mr.--I mean the President, ma'am. _Mrs. Lincoln_: Well, show her up. SUSAN _goes_. MRS. LINCOLN _closes her writing desk._ SUSAN _returns, showing in_ MRS. GOLIATH BLOW. _Susan_: Mrs. Goliath Blow. _She goes_.