“They have bought their country’s freedom, Sealed with blood and bitter pain; They have fought, and they have suffered, But their work was not in vain: Over all our rescued country Floats the starry flag again.” But, as the rainbow of peace now spans the political horizon, may we not soon hope for the fulfilment of the prophetic words of the immortal Lincoln, in the closing paragraph of his first inaugural address? “The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearth-stone all over our broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when touched, as they surely will be, by the better angels of our nature.” [Illustration] As a fitting and appropriate conclusion to this little book, and in keeping with the thoughts and incidents recorded in the last chapter, we insert the following poem, composed, as we are informed by the author, during the delivery of Mr. Bancroft’s celebrated eulogy, in the Hall of Representatives, on the first anniversary of the death of Mr. Lincoln: ABRAHAM LINCOLN--ANNIVERSARY POEM. BY U. J. BAXTER. [Written April 14, 1866.] What troubled woe Speaks to a nation of her glories slain? What sudden grief tells of our glories slain? Whose paricidal blow Has struck her heart and filled her cup of pain? Why sound the bells So mournfully upon the air of night? Why volley forth the guns upon the night, With sudden peal that tells Of darkling horror and of dire affright? The morn shall ope With a dread tale that tells of dark eclipse-- Of a dark deed that throws its black eclipse On all a nation’s hope, And smites the joy that filled a nation’s lips. The waning light Goes out in many a home as sinks the day Which lights a nation’s life--the glorious day Which made our joy so bright-- A risen sun--a lump of feeble clay! “Dust unto dust!” Death calls--earth fades--Heaven opens full in view; A glorious Heaven meets his raptured view. No gates shall bar the just-- His mighty soul in triumph enters through! Through tears and gloom-- Through seas of blood--through stormy deeps of woe-- He brought our land safe through its bleeding woe; Yet on his honored tomb, Emblems of peace, fair, fadeless lilies grow. For if the sword Owed to his hand its prestige and renown-- Smote all his foes and won his high renown-- His voice was but the word Through which his people’s voice and will were shown. His country’s cry Was to him as the mighty voice of God; His people’s voice was as the voice of God-- Till called of Him on high To glory’s courts, where angels never trod;