The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1884-03-19
TWO POEMS.
Tho FnvOrites OF Lincoln and Gar
field.

s"o HnSorites OF L1nCOln ana Ghr
field.
The favorite poems Of Lincoln an,
Garfield inspire mournful and perma
nent interest The authors of both ar
unknown. Mr.. +. b. Carpenter, tn
artist, writes that, while engaged il
painting Lincoln's picture at the Whit
House, he was alone one evening witt
tho President In his room, when he said
There Is d poem which has been
great favorite with me for years, which
was first shown TO me when q young
man by friend, and which afterwart
saw and cut from newspaper ant
learned by heart. would" he con
tinued, "give great de al to know wh'
wrote it, but have never been able t,
ascertain" Here is the poem:
OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MoBTAI
DE PROUD?
! Oh, why should the spirit Of mortal be proud?
Like a swiftneoting meteor, fast-hying cloud,
A fash OF tho lightning, n break Of the wave,
Man passes from lie 10 his rest IN the grave.
Tho leaves Of the oak and willow shall fade
BE scattered around and together bo laid;
And the young and the old, aud the low and the
high,
Shall molder TO dust and together shall die.
Tho infsnta mother attended and loved,
The mother that Infants affection who proved
The husband that mother and infant who blessed,
Each all, are away to thor dwellings Of rest
The maid Oh whose check, on whose brow, In who's
oye,
Shone beauty and pleasure triumphs are by;
And the memory Of those who loved her and praised
Are alike from the minds Of the living erased.
Tho hand Of tho King that the scepter hath borne,
Tbs brow Of the priest that the inter hath worn,
The eye Of the cage and tho 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 herdsinan, who climbed with his goats up the
steep;
The beggar who wandered IN search OF his broad,
Have faded away like tho grass that We tread.
Tbs saint who enjoyed the communion OF heaven,
Tue sinner who dared to remain uuforgiyen,
Tho wise and tho foolish, the guilty aud lust
Have quietly mingled their bones In tho dust
So the multitude goes, like the flower or tho weed
That withers away 10 let others succeed;
10 tho multitude comes, even tho.e We behold,
To repeat every tale that has often been tod.
For We arc tho same our fathers have been:
We see the same sights our fathers have seem
Ana run tho same course our fathers have run,
Tho thoughts We arc thinking our fathers would
think;
From tho death we are shrinking our fathers Womb
shrink;
To the lio We arc cinging ,hoy also would cling:
But speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.
They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;
Ihny bcorncd, but the heart Of the naughty Is cold
They grlcycd, but no wall from their slumbers will
como;
They ioyed, but the tongue Of their gladnoss 4.
dumb.
They died, ayi they died; and we things that are
now,
Who walk on the turf that lies over their br W,
Who make IN their dwelling transient abode
Meet tho thngs that they mot on their pilgrimage
Yea! hope and dependency, pleasure and pain,
We mingle together in sunshine and rain;
Aud the smiles and the tears the song and the dirpe
Sun follow each other, Ike surge upon surge
Tis the wink of an oye, It's the draught Of
breath,
From the blossom Of health 10 tho uaIo,,,ss -,
From tho gilded saloon to tho bier and tho
shr0ud-
o, why should the r2irit Of mortal DO proud9
Garlields favorite poem, which we
give below, has lofty tone not unlike
that of Lincoln's. 1t would DO dull
soul who could read it without taking
inspiration and comfort from it:
10 REAPERs OF LIES HARVEST.
Hol roapcrs Of lfss harvest
Why stand with rusted blade
Until the night draws round thee
Aud day begins to fade?
Why stand yo Idle, waiting
For roaperA moro ~ come?
The golden morn Is passing;
Why sit ye idle dumb?
Thrust In your sharpened sickle.
And gather in the grain;
The night is fast approaching.
And noon will come again
The Master calls for reapers.
Aud shall lilo call In vain?
bhall sheaves lie there ungathero
And waste upon the plain7
Mount up the heights Of wisdom.
And crush each error low:
Keep back no words of knowledge
That human hearts should know.
be faithful thy mission,
IN service of thy Lord
And then golden chaplet
hall In Inv tttat