Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1880-08-05
LIncoln's Fayorite poem.

A poem is going the rounds that tn
artist r. b. Carpenter who painted fh'
| Emancipation Proclamation wrote dowi
| from the lips of the late President !
seems that it has long been favorit'
with him and he was accustomed to re
peat il to his intimate friends. Th'
spirit of the piece tells much of th'
spirit OF its ailmirer. As the artis
reports it, two staIZas. the fourth ant
seventh of the original piece, are omitted
We supply them. The author was Viii
liam Knox who died at thirty-six years
of age, in 1925 at Edinburgh, Scotland
OH! WHY SHOULD THR SPIRIT OF MORTAL
BE PROUD?
OH why shouii the spirit OF mortal be proud
Like aswiIt heeting meteor. a fast wing cloud,
fash of the lightning. hreak of the wave,
The leaves OF the oak aud the willow shall fade.
Be scattered around and together be laid;
And the young and the old. and the low and the
high
Shall moultler to dust and together shall lie.
The infant mother attended and loved;
The mother that Infants affection who proved;
The husband that mother and infant who
blessed, fsa
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.
The maid on whose cheek. on whose brow, in
whose eye
Shone beauty and pieasure-her triumphs are
And the memory of those who loved her and
praised,
Are alike irom the minds of the living erased.
The hand OF the king that the scepter hath
borne;
The brow OF the priest that the miter hath worn
The eye of the sage and the heart OF the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.
The peasant, whose lot was to SOW and to reap:
The herdsman, who climed with his goats up
the steep:
The beggar who wandered in search of his
bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
So the multitude goes, like the flower or the
weed
That withers away to let others succeed:
So the multitude comes. even those we behold.
To repeat every tale that has often been told.
''The saint who enjoyed the communion OF
Heaven.
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven.
The wise and the foolish. the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust
For we are the same our fathers have been:
We see the same sights our fathers have seen
We drink the same stream and view the same
And run the same course our fathers have run.
l.
think;
From the death We are shrinking our fathers
would shrink:
To the life we are clinging they also would
But it speeds for us all. like bird on the wing.
They loved. but the story we can not unfold:
They scorned, but the heart OF the naughty Is
cold;
They grieved, but no wall from their slumbsr
will come;
I.pE he 1f hal &,
dumb.
They died. ave they died; We things that are
That walk ON the turf that lies over their brow,
And make in their dwellings q transient abode, |
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrim
.a age rOad.
] eal hope and dependency, pleasure and pain,
We ningle together in sunshine and rain;
nd the smile aud the tear. the song and the
Still follow each other. like surge upon surge.
'Tis the wink Of an eve, it's the dranght OF
breath;
From the blossom of health to the palcness OF
death,
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the
Oh. why should the spirit of mortal be prouds
The New York World says that Mr.. |
Lincoln lacked taste and sensibility. |
In refutation Of this opinion, we invite |
attention to the above poem, which he |
20 admired and in harmony with the
spirit of which he attunel his own, and |
also to the following, communicated by
Mr.. Carpenter:
After we had discussed for brief |
lime the merit of the poem referred to
above, Mr.. Lincoln said: "There are
some quaint, queer verses written |
,hink by Oliver Wendell Holmes called
The Last Leaf one of which is to me
touching" He then re-
Deated, also from memory, the poem.
The verse he referred to occurs in abont |
he middle of the poem, and is this:
"The messy marbles rest
On the lips which he has pressed
In their bloom.
And the names he Lowell TO hear
Have been carved for many year
On the tomb"
As he finished this verse, he said In his
emphatic way: "FOr pure pathOs, In
ny judgment, there is nothing finer
han those six lines in the English
anguage."
Had he been wanting In either "taste
,r sensibllity," Mr.. Lincoln would not
nave 80 appreciated these or any other
poems as to have memorised them for
he sake of their poetic beauty and
noble sentiment.