George Alfred Townsend was born in Georgetown, Delaware, January 30, 1841. In 1860 he began writing for the press and speaking in public, and in 1860 adopted the profession of journalism. In 1862 he became a war correspondent for the _New York World_, the _Chicago Tribune_ and other papers, and made an enviable reputation as a descriptive writer.

He also published a number of books both of prose and poetry.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

The peaceful valley reaching wide, The wild war stilled on every hand; On Pisgah's top our prophet died, In sight of promised land.

Low knelt the foeman's serried fronts, His cannon closed their lips of bra.s.s,-- The din of arms hushed all at once To let this good man pa.s.s.

A cheerful heart he wore alway, Though tragic years clashed on the while; Death sat behind him at the play-- His last look was a smile.

No battle-pike his march imbrued, Unarmed he went midst martial mails, The footsore felt their hopes renewed To hear his homely tales.

His single arm crushed wrong and thrall That grand good will we only dreamed, Two races wept around his pall, One saved and one redeemed.

The trampled flag he raised again, And healed our eagle's broken wing; The night that scattered armed men Saw scorpions rise to sting.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C., 1864]

Paul Lawrence Dunbar, born of negro parents at Dayton, Ohio, June 27, 1872. Was graduated at the Dayton High School in 1891, and since then has devoted himself to literature and journalism. He has written _Oak and Ivy_ (poems); _Lyrics of Lowly Life_ (poems), and _The Uncalled_ (a novel). Since 1898 he has been on the staff of the Librarian of Congress.

LINCOLN

Hurt was the Nation with a mighty wound, And all her ways were filled with clam'rous sound.

Wailed loud the South with unremitting grief, And wept the North that could not find relief.

Then madness joined its harshest tone to strife: A minor note swelled in the song of life Till, stirring with the love that filled his breast, But still, unflinching at the Right's behest Grave Lincoln came, strong-handed, from afar,-- The mighty Homer of the lyre of war!

'Twas he who bade the raging tempest cease, Wrenched from his strings the harmony of peace, Muted the strings that made the discord,--Wrong, And gave his spirit up in thund'rous song.

Oh, mighty Master of the mighty lyre!

Earth heard and trembled at thy strains of fire: Earth learned of thee what Heaven already knew, And wrote thee down among her treasured few!

[Ill.u.s.tration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

Photograph by Gardner, Washington, D. C., 1865]

Alice Cary was born in Mount Healthy, near Cincinnati, Ohio, April 20, 1820. Her first book of poems, with her sister Phoebe, was published in 1850. Her poems and prose writings were pictures from life and nature, among which were _Pictures of Memory_, _Mulberry Hill_, _Coming Home_ and _n.o.bility_. She died at her home in New York City, February 12, 1871. This poem is inscribed to the _London Punch_.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

No glittering chaplet brought from other lands!

As in his life, this man, in death, is ours; His own loved prairies o'er his "gaunt, gnarled hands,"

Have fitly drawn their sheet of summer flowers!

What need hath he now of a tardy crown, His name from mocking jest and sneer to save When every plowman turns his furrow down As soft as though it fell upon his grave?

He was a man whose like the world again Shall never see, to vex with blame or praise; The landmarks that attest his bright, brief reign, Are battles, not the pomps of gala days!

The grandest leader of the grandest war That ever time in history gave a place,-- What were the tinsel flattery of a star To such a breast! or what a ribbon's grace!

'Tis to th' man, and th' man's honest worth, The Nation's loyalty in tears upsprings; Through him the soil of labor shines henceforth, High o'er the silken broideries of kings.

The mechanism of eternal forms-- The shifts that courtiers put their bodies through-- Were alien ways to him: his brawny arms Had other work than posturing to do!

[Ill.u.s.tration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

Photograph by Alexander Gardner, Washington, D. C., 1865]

Rose Terry Cooke was born in West Hartford, Connecticut, February 17, 1827. Graduated at Hartford Female Seminary in 1843. She has written many short stories and a number of books of poems.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Hundreds there have been, loftier than their kind, Heroes and victors in the world's great wars: Hundreds, exalted as the eternal stars, By the great heart, or keen and mighty mind; There have been sufferers, maimed and halt and blind, Who bore their woes in such triumphant calm That G.o.d hath crowned them with the martyr's palm; And there were those who fought through fire to find Their Master's face, and were by fire refined.

But who like thee, oh Sire! hath ever stood Steadfast for truth and right, when lies and wrong Rolled their dark waters, turbulent and strong; Who bore reviling, baseness, tears and blood Poured out like water, till thine own was spent, Then reaped Earth's sole reward--a grave and monument!

[Ill.u.s.tration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN

Photograph by Brady, Washington, D. C., 1865]