Lincoln, the Man of the People

When the Norn-Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour,Greatening and darkening as it hurried on,She bent the strenuous Heavens and came downTo make a man to meet the mortal need.She took the tried clay of the common road—Clay warm yet with the genial heat of Earth,Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy;Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff.It was a stuff to wear for centuries,A man that matched the mountains, and compelledThe stars to look our way and honor us.

The color of the ground was in him, the red earth;The tang and odor of the primal things—The rectitude and patience of the rocks;The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn;The courage of the bird that dares the sea;The justice of the rain that loves all leaves;The pity of the snow that hides all scars;The loving-kindness of the wayside well;The tolerance and equity of lightThat gives as freely to the shrinking weedAs to the great oak flaring to the wind—To the grave’s low hill as to the MatterhornThat shoulders out the sky.

And so he came.From prairie cabin up to Capitol,One fair Ideal led our chieftain on.Forevermore he burned to do his deedWith the fine stroke and gesture of a king.He built the rail-pile as he built the State,Pouring his splendid strength through every blow,The conscience of him testing every stroke,To make his deed the measure of a man.

So came the Captain with the mighty heart:And when the step of Earthquake shook the house,Wrenching the rafters from their ancient hold,He held the ridgepole up, and spiked againThe rafters of the Home. He held his place—Held the long purpose like a growing tree—Held on through blame and faltered not at praise.And when he fell in whirlwind, he went downAs when a kingly cedar green with boughsGoes down with a great shout upon the hills,And leaves a lonesome place against the sky.