"Four years ago she put to sea, With prospects brightly beaming; Her hull was strong, her sails new-bent, And every pennant streaming; She loved the gale, she plowed the waves, Nor feared the deep's commotion; Majestic, nobly on she sailed, Proud mistress of the ocean. "There's mutiny aboard the ship; There's feud no force can smother; Their blood is up to fever-heat; They're cutting down each other. Buchanan here, and Douglas there, Are belching forth their thunder, While cunning rogues are sly at work In pocketing the plunder. "Our ship is badly out of trim; 'Tis time to calk and grave her; She's foul with stench of human gore; They've turned her to a slaver. She's cruised about from coast to coast, The flying bondman hunting, Until she's strained from stem to stern, And lost her sails and bunting. "Old Abram is the man! Old Abram is the man! And he'll trim her sails, As he split the rails. Old Abram is the man! "We'll give her what repairs she needs-- A thorough overhauling; Her sordid crew shall be dismissed, To seek some honest calling. Brave Lincoln soon shall take the helm, On truth and right relying; In calm or storm, in peace or war, He'll keep her colors flying. "Old Abram is the man! Old Abram is the man! With a sturdy mate From the Pine-Tree State, Old Abram is the man!" These words seem commonplace to-day, but they were trumpet-notes then. "Our Lincoln is the man!" trembled on every tongue, and a tumultuous applause arose that shook the air. The enthusiasm grew; the minstrel had voiced the people, and they would not let him stop singing. They finally mounted him on their shoulders and carried him about in triumph, like a victor bard of old. Ever rang the chorus from the lips of the people, "Our Lincoln is the man!" "Old Abram is the man!" Lincoln heard the song. He loved songs. One of his favorite songs was "Twenty Years ago." But this was the first time, probably, that he had heard himself sung. He was living at that time in the plain house in Springfield that has been made familiar by pictures. The song delighted him, but he, of all the thousands, was forbidden by his position to express his pleasure in the song. He would have liked to join with the multitudes in singing "Our Lincoln is the man!" had not the situation sealed his lips. But after the scene was over, and the great mass of people began to melt away, he sought the minstrel, and said: "Come to my room, and sing to me the song privately. _I_ want to hear you sing it."