The Poets' Lincoln: Tributes in Verse to the Martyred President
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The Poets' Lincoln: Tributes in Verse to the Martyred President
Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865 -- Poetry
He seemed as set by God apart,
The winepress trod alone;
He stands forth an uncrowned king,
A people's heart his throne.
Land of our loyal love and hope,
O Land he died to save,
Bow down, renew today thy vows
Beside his martyr grave!
Charles Monroe Dickinson, born at Lowville, New York, November 15,
1842. Educated at Fairfield (New York), Seminary and Lowville Academy.
Admitted to the bar in 1865; practiced law in the State of
Pennsylvania, at Binghamton, New York, and in New York City 1865-77,
when he abandoned the profession because of broken health. Editor and
proprietor of _Binghamton Republican_, 1878-1911. In 1892, upon his
suggestion and initiative the various news organizations were combined
into the present Associated Press. Presidential elector, 1896; United
States Consul-General to Turkey, 1897-1906; Diplomatic agent to
Bulgaria, 1901-1903. While acting in this capacity the American
missionary, Ellen M. Stone, was carried off by brigands, but released
through his settlement and efforts. Member board to draft regulations
for government of American consular service 1906; American
Consul-General at-large, 1906-October 1, 1908. Author of _History of
Dickinson Family_, 1885; _The Children and Other Verses_, 1889; part
of political history of State of New York, 1911.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
If any one hath doubt or fear
That this is Freedom's chosen clime--
That God hath sown and planted here
The richest harvest field of Time--
Let him take heart, throw off his fears,
As he looks back a hundred years.
Cities and fields and wealth untold,
With equal rights before the law;
And, better than all lands and gold--
Such as the old world never saw--
Freedom and peace, the right to be,
And honor to those who made us free.
Our greatness did not happen so,
We owe it not to chance or fate;
In furnace heat, by blow on blow,
Were forged the things that make us great;
And men still live who bore that heat,
And felt those deadly hammers beat.
Not in the pampered courts of kings,
Not in the homes that rich men keep,
God calls His Davids with their slings,
Or wakes His Samuels from their sleep;
But from the homes of toil and need
Calls those who serve as well as lead.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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