O soul obscure, Whose wings life bound, And soft death folded Under the ground. Wilding lady, Still and true, Who gave us Lincoln And never knew: To you at last Our praise, our tears, Love and a song Through the nation's years. Mother of Lincoln, Our tears, our praise; A battle-flag And the victor's bays! [Illustration: THE RAIL SPLITTER From the "Footprints of Abraham Lincoln"] LINCOLN THE LABORER _From an Horatian Ode by Richard Henry Stoddard_ A laboring man with horny hands, Who swung the axe, who tilled the lands, Who shrank from nothing new, But did as poor men do. One of the people. Born to be Their curious epitome, To share, yet rise above, Their shifting hate and love. Common his mind, it seemed so then, His thoughts the thoughts of other men, Plain were his words, and poor-- But now they will endure. No hasty fool of stubborn will, But prudent, cautious, still-- Who, since his work was good, Would do it as he could. No hero, this, of Roman mold-- Nor like our stately sires of old. Perhaps he was not great-- But he preserved the state. O, honest face, which all men knew, O, tender heart, but known to few-- O, wonder of the age, Cut off by tragic rage. [Illustration: "THE BOY LINCOLN" By Eastman Johnson] James Whitcomb Riley was born in Greenfield, Indiana, about 1852. He was engaged in various pursuits until 1875, when he began to contribute verses of poetry to local papers in the Western district which gained wide popularity for him. His published works in dialect and his serious poems have also proved very popular. A PEACEFUL LIFE (LINCOLN) A peaceful life;--just toil and rest-- All his desire;-- To read the books he liked the best Beside the cabin fire. God's word and man's;--to peer sometimes Above the page, in smoldering gleams, And catch, like far heroic rhymes, The onmarch of his dreams.