The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1881-11-04
TWop oRMs.I
The Fnvorites, Of Lincoln and Gar
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The favorite poems of Lincoln and
Garfield inspire a mournful and perma-
unknown. Mr.. F. b. Carpenter, the
artist, writes that, while engaged In
painting Lincoln's picture at the White
House, he was alone one evening with
the President in his room, when he said:
"There is a poem which has been .
great favorite with me for years, which
was first shown to me when young
man by friend, and which / afterward
saw and cut from newspaper and
learned by heart. 1 would" he con-
tinued, "give a great de al to know who
wrote it, but have never been able to
ascertain" Here is the poem
OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL
BE PROUD?
oh, why should the spirit Of mortal be proudf
Like swift-heetng meteor, fast-nying cloud,
A fash OF the lightning, break Of the wave,
Man passes from life to his rest In the grave.
The leaves Of the oak and willow shall fade,
Be scattered around and together be laid;
And the young and the old, and the low and the
high,
Shall molder to dust and together shall die.
The infant mother attended and loved,
The mother that infants affection who proved,
The husband that mother and infant who blessed,
Each, all are away TO their dwellings of rest.
he maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in who's
shone beauty and pleasure-her triumphs by;
And the memory Of those who loved her and praised
Are alike from the minds Of the living erased.
The hand Of the King that the scepter hath borne
The brow of the priest that the inter 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 herdsaan, who climbed with his goats up the
steep;
The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust
30 the multitude goes, like the mower or the weed
That withers away TO let others succeed;
80 the multitude comes, even those We behold
To repeat every tale that has often been tod.
For the same fathers have been;
We see the same sights fathers have seen
We drink the same stream and view the same sun,
And run the same course our fathers have run.
The thoughts thinking our fathers would
think;
From the death shrinking our fathers would
shrink;
10 the LIE we are cling1ng they also would cling:
But ii speeds for us ali, like bird on the wing
They loved, but the story we cannot unfold
They scorned but the heart of the naughty in cold
They greyed, but no wall from their slumbers viii
come;
They toyed, but the tongue of their sladness is
dumb.
They died, ay they died; and we things that are
now,
Who walk on the turf that lies over their br W
n trau ali abo
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage
road.
Yea hope and dependency, pleasure and pain,
We mingle together in sunshine and rain;
And the smiles and the tears the song and the dirge
Stu follow each other, ike surge upon surge.
'ris the wink of an eye, tits the draught OF a
breath,
From the blossom of health to the paleness of
From the glded saloon to the bier and the
shroud-
o, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Garfelds favorite poem, which we
give below, has lofty tone not unlike
that of Lincoln's. Il would be a dull
soul who could read it without taking
inspiration and comfort from it
Hoi REAPERs OF LIES HARVEST.
Hol reapers of life's harvest,
Why stand with rus ted blade
Until the night draws round thee
And day begins 70 fade?
Why stand ye Idle. waiting
For reRpers more 20 come?
The golden morn is passing;
Why it ye idle, dumb?
Thrust IN your shsrpened SICKLE
And gather in the Rrain
The night is fast approaching,
And noon will come again.
The Master calls for reapers,
And shall lie cali in vain?
Shall sheaves lie there ungathered,
And waste upon the plain?
Mount up the heights Of wisdom,
And crush each errorlow
Keep back no words Of knowledge
That human hearts should know.
Be faithful to thy mission,
In service Of tiny Lord,
And then golden chapet
Shall be thy just reward