ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S FAVORITE POEM.

Dunstan Times, Issue 1107, 20 July 1883, Page 3

ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S FAVORITE POEM.

[The death of th« widow ot President Abraham Lincoln recalls his favorite i oni, entitled, “ Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud ? ’ Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal bo proud ? Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast flying cloud, A flash of tho lightning, a break of the wave. He passelh from life to his rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around, and together be laid ; Aud tiie young and the old, and the low and the high, ShaU moulder to oust, and together shall lie. he infant a mother attended aud love 1 ; Tue muther that infant’s affection who proved ; The husband that mother and infant who bleat— Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. [The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, iu whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure, her triumphs are 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 sceptre hath borne, The br >w of the priest that the mitre hath worn. The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave. Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman who c'imbed with his goat on the steep. The beggar who wandered in search of his bread. Have faded away like the grass that we tread. [The saint who eujoye 1 the communion of Heaven, The sinner who dared to remain nuforgiven. The wise and the foolish the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. ] So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed, That withers away to lot others succeed : So the multitude comes, even those wo behold. To repeat every tale that has often been told. For wc are the same our fathers have been ; AVe see the sarnesights our fathers have seen; We drink dm same stream, we view the same sun, Anl run the same course our fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ; From the death we are shrinking our fathers wo ild shrink ; To the life we are clinging they also would cling ; But it spec Is from us ail like a bird on the wing. They loved, but the story we cannot unfold ; Th -.y su.>rn id, but the heart of the hang ity is cold ; They grieve 1, but no wad from their slum ier will oo ne ; They j iyed, but the tongue of thoir gladness is dumb. They die I, ay, tiny die I; wo things that ate now, Tha* wa'k on the turf that lies over their b in w, A'-d make in their dwellings a transient | a nld i, .Meet ilie things that they met on their ; pilgun 'go road. Yea, hope aud despondency, pleasure and pa i n, Are mingled together in sunshine and rain ; An 1 the smile an 1 the tear, tue song ami the oime, Still follow each other like surge upon surge. ’Tis the wink of an eye, ’tis the draught of a breath From the blossom of health to tho paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud— Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be pmud ?