Sunbury American. [volume] (Sunbury, Pa.) 1848-1879, 1865-04-29
PRESIDENT LIyCOLN's ia.
yORITE POEM.

vOKETE POEM.
Mr.. F. B. Carpenter, the well.known pain
ter, has written note in reference to q
poem much admired by Mr.. Lincoln. He
says: II have been urged by several friends
TO send you the enclosed poem, written
down 10y myself from Mr.. Lincoln's lips,
and although it may not lie new to all of
your readers, the events Of the last week
give 1t now a peculiar interest. The cir
cums,ances under which this copy was
written down are these: was with the Pre-
sident alone one evening in his room, dur.
ing the time was painting my large picture
at the White House, last year. He present
ly threw aside his pen and papers, and be-
gan to talk to me of Shakespeare. He sent
little "Thad," his son, To the library to bring
copy of the plays, and then read to me
several of his favorite passages, showing .
genuine appreciation Of the great poet |
relapsing into sadder strain, he laid the |
book aside, and leaning back in his chair, |
said: There is poem which mas been a |
great favorite with me for years, which was |
first shown to ne when q young man by
friend, and which afterwards saw and cut
from "A newspaper, and learned by heart.
would he continued, give great deal to
know who wrote it, but have never been
able to ascertain" Then, half closing his
eyes, lie repeated to me the lines which
enclose to you.
Oh! Why Should The Spirit Of Nor
tai bc Proud.
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like swift, fleeting meteor, tast-tlying
cloud.
a flash of tightening, break of the wave,
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave.
! The leaves of the oak and the willow shall
fade,
BE scattered around the toge her be laid
And the young and the old, and the low and
the high,
Shall moulder to dust and together shall
| lie.
The infant and mother, attended and loved;
! The mother THAI Infants affection who PROV
! ed
The husband that mother and infant who
blessed,
Each, alI, are away to their dwellings of
Rest.
The hand of the king that the sccptrc hath
The brow Of the priest that the ultrs hath
The eye of the sage and the heart Of the
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the
! grave.
The peasant, whose lot was to SOW and to
reap;
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats
up the steep;
The hrggar, who wandered in search of Ills
bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we
tread.
SO the nlulntnde goes, like the flower or the
weed
That withers away TO let Others succeed;
So the multitude comes, even those We be
hold,
To repeat every tale that has often been
told.
For we are the same our fathers have been :;
We see the same sights cur fathers have
seen;
Ne drink the same stream and view the
same sun,
And run the same course our fathers have
run.
The thoughts we are thinking our fathers
would think,
From the death we are shrinking our faith
ers would shrink
To the life We are clinging they also would
cling;
But it speeds for US all, like a bird on the
wing.
The loved, but the story we cannot unfold;
They sc0rncd, but the heart Of the naughty
is cold;
They grieved, but no wall from their slum-
will come:
! They joyed, but the tongue of their glad
ness is dumb.
They died, aye. they died; we things that
, are now,
That walk on the turf that lies over their
brow,
| And make on their dwellings transient
abode,
Meet the things that they met on their pill
EIimage road.
Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and
pain,
We mingle together in sunshine and rain;
And the smile and the tear, the song anl
the dirge,
: Still follow each other, like surge upon
;, surge.
e 'rs the wink OF the eye. It's the draught ot
n breath,
r From the blossoms of health to the palcnes'
: of death,
n From the gilded saloon 10 the bier and til,
c shroud
3 Oh, why should tho spirit of mortal b,
/ proud!
, -ucN- ENnxfss E'a:, Scrxice ESrcseus q. Al