THE HOUSE WHERE LINCOLN DIED

Above Judea's purple-mantled plain, There hovers still, among the ruins lone, The spirit of the Christ whose dying moan Was heard in heaven, and paid our debt in pain.

As subtle perfume lingers with the rose, Even when its petals flutter to the earth, So clings the potent mystery of the birth Of that deep love from which all mercy flows.

Within this house,--this room,--a martyr died, A prophet of a larger liberty,-- A liberator setting bondmen free, A full-orbed MAN, above mere mortal pride.

The cloud-rifts opening to celestial glades, Oft glimpse him, and his spirit lingers still, As Christ's sweet influence broods upon the hill Where the red lily with the sunset fades.

A little girl with eyes of heavenly blue, Sings through the old place, ignorant of all; Her angel face, her cheerful, birdlike call Thrilling the heart to life more full, more true.

IN TOKEN OF RESPECT

_Translation from Latin verses_

From humble parentage and low degree Lincoln ascended to the highest rank; None ever had a harder task than he, It was perfected--him alone we thank.

Did the a.s.sa.s.sin think to kill a name, Or hand his own down to posterity?

One will wear the laurel wreath of fame, The other be condemned to infamy.

Caesar was killed by Brutus, Yet Rome did not cease to be; Lincoln by Booth, and yet the slaves In all America are free!

Rieti, France, May, 1865

ENGLAND'S SORROW

_From London Fun_

The hand of an a.s.sa.s.sin, glowing red, Shot like a firebrand through the western sky; And stalwart Abraham Lincoln now is dead!

O! felon heart that thus could basely dye The name of southerner with murderous gore!

Could such a spirit come from mortal womb?

And what possessed it that not heretofore It linked its coward mission with the tomb?

Lincoln! thy fame shall sound through many an age, To prove that genius lives in humble birth; Thy name shall sound upon historic page, For 'midst thy faults we all esteemed thy worth.

Gone art thou now! no more 'midst angry heat Shall thy calm spirit rule the surging tide, Which rolls where two contending nations meet, To still the pa.s.sion and to curb the pride.

Nations have looked and seen the fate of kings, Protectors, emperors, and such like men; Behold the man whose dirge all Europe sings, Now past the eulogy of mortal pen!

He, like a lighthouse, fell athwart the strand; Let curses rest upon the a.s.sa.s.sin's hand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FUNERAL OF LINCOLN

Ceremonies in the East Room of the White House, April 19, 1865]

At ten minutes after twelve o'clock Rev. Charles H. Hall, of the Church of the Epiphany, opened the service by reading from the Episcopal Burial Service for the Dead. Bishop Matthew Simpson of the Methodist Church then offered prayer, and the Rev. Dr. Phineas D.

Gurley, pastor of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, at which Mr. Lincoln and his family attended, delivered a sermon. The Rev. E.

H. Gray, D.D., of the E Street Baptist Church, closed the solemn service with prayer.

Phineas Densmore Gurley, born at Hamilton, New York, 1816. Educated at Union College, Schenectady, New York. Taught during vacation, graduated 1837. Studied theology at the Theological Seminary, Princeton, New Jersey. Was licensed to preach in 1840. In 1840 he went to Indianapolis, Indiana, and took charge of a church. In 1849 he removed to Dayton, Ohio, taking charge of a church, and in 1853 moved to Washington, D. C., and took charge of a Presbyterian Church on F Street, afterwards Willard Hall. In 1858 was elected Chaplain of the United States Senate. In July, 1859, the Second Presbyterian Church and the F Street Church united, and were known as the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, Dr. Gurley becoming its pastor from March, 1861, until his death. President Lincoln was a pew holder and a regular attendant, but was not a member. On one occasion the President remarked, "I like Dr. Gurley, he doesn't preach politics. I get enough of that during the week, and when I go to church I like to hear gospel."

When the President was a.s.sa.s.sinated Dr. Gurley was sent for and remained with the President until he breathed his last.

As soon as the spirit took its flight, Secretary Stanton turned to Dr.

Gurley and said, "Doctor, will you say something?" After a brief pause, Dr. Gurley said, "Let us talk with G.o.d," and offered a touching prayer. Dr. Gurley died September 30, 1868.

THE FUNERAL HYMN OF LINCOLN

Rest, n.o.ble martyr! rest in peace; Rest with the true and brave, Who, like thee, fell in freedom's cause, The nation's life to save.

Thy name shall live while time endures, And men shall say of thee, "He saved his country from its foes, And bade the slave be free."

These deeds shall be thy monument, Better than bra.s.s or stone; They leave thy fame in glory's light, Unrival'd and alone.

This consecrated spot shall be To freedom ever dear; And freedom's sons of every race Shall weep and worship here.

O G.o.d! before whom we, in tears, Our fallen chief deplore, Grant that the cause for which he died May live forevermore.

Harriet McEwen Kimball, born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, November, 1834. Educated there; specially known as a religious poet, although she has written much secular verse; chief founder of the Portsmouth Cottage Hospital. Author hymns, _Swallow Flights_; _Blessed Company of All Faithful People_; _Poems_ (complete edition), 1889.

REST, REST FOR HIM

Rest, rest for him whose n.o.ble work is done; For him who led us gently, unaware, Till we were readier to do and dare For Freedom, and her hundred fields were won.

His march is ended where his march began; More sweet his sleep for toil and sacrifice, And that rare wisdom whose beginning lies In fear of G.o.d, and charity for man;

And sweetest for the tender faith that grew More strong in trial, and through doubt more clear, Seeing in clouds and darkness One appear In whose dread name the Nation's sword he drew.

Rest, rest for him; and rest for us today Whose sorrow shook the land from east to west When slain by treason on the Nation's breast Her martyr breathed his steadfast soul away.