Poetical Tributes to the Memory of Abraham LincolnJ.B. Lippincott & Company, 1865 - 294 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
anguish ANONYMOUS assassin's banner bear bier bitter bleeding blood blooming prairies blow bondman brave breast breath broken fetters brow calm chief country's crime crown dark death deed dirge dust earth evermore eyes fame Father fell flag foes freedom's funeral pall glad glad song gloom glorious glory God's gone grave grief hand hath head heaven hero honored hope hushed justice land light lips live Lord martyr mercy mighty millions murder nation weeps nation's heart neath night noble noblest o'er patriot peace people's praise prayer promised land rest RICHARD STORRS WILLIS shed SHERMAN SMITH shining shore Sic Semper Tyrannis slain sleep solemn song sorrow soul spirit stand stars stars and stripes stricken strife sweet tears tempest thee thine thou hast Thy name to-day toil toll tomb traitors treason trust victory voice wail wave wrath
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Página 233 - Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.
Página 50 - You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier! • You, who with mocking pencil wont to trace, Broad for the self-complacent British sneer, His length of shambling limb, his furrowed face, His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair. His garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease, His lack of all we prize as debonair, Of power or will to shine, of art to please!
Página 13 - Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, Gentle and merciful and just ! Who, in the fear of God, didst bear The sword of power, a nation's trust ! In sorrow by thy bier we stand, Amid the awe that hushes all, And speak the anguish of a land That shook with horror at thy fall. Thy task is done ; the bond are free : We bear thee to an honoured grave, Whose proudest monument shall be The broken fetters of the slave.
Página 50 - Yes : he had lived to shame me from my sneer, To lame my pencil, and confute my pen ; To make me own this hind of princes peer, This rail-splitter a true-born king of men.
Página 233 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives,...
Página 52 - Rough culture, but such trees large fruit may bear, If but their stocks be of right girth and grain. So he grew up, a destined work to do, And lived to do it: four long-suffering years...
Página 155 - Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off...
Página 51 - How humble yet how hopeful he could be : How in good fortune and in ill the same : Nor bitter in success, nor boastful he, Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame. \ He went about his work — such work as few Ever had laid on head and heart and hand — As one who knows, where there's a task to do, Man's honest will must Heaven's good grace command...
Página 53 - The Old World and the New, from sea to sea, Utter one voice of sympathy and shame ! Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high ; Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came.
Página 27 - Beyond the struggling lines That push his dread designs* To doom, by some stray ball struck dead : Or in the last charge, at the head Of his determined men, .Who must be victors then ! Nor as when sink the civic great, The safer pillars of the State, Whose calm, mature, wise words Suppress the need of swords ! — With no such tears as e'er were shed Above the noblest of our dead Do we to-day deplore The man that is no more ! Our sorrow hath a wider scope, Too strange for fear, too vast for hope,—...