And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my

soul,

With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe,

With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,

Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their mem

ory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well, For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands and this for his dear sake,

Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of

my soul,

There in the fragrant pines and cedars, dusk and dim.

VII

THE WHOLE MAN

LINCOLN, THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE1

BY EDWIN MARKHAM

Revised especially for this volume.

When the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour
Greatening and darkening as it hurried on,
She left the Heaven of Heroes and came down
To 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;
Tempered the heap with thrill of human tears;
Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff.
Into the shape she breathed a flame to light
That tender, tragic, ever-changing face.
Here was a man to hold against the world,
A man to match the mountains and the sea:

The color of the ground was in him, the red earth;
The smack and smell of elemental things -
The rectitude and patience of the rocks;
The good-will of the rain that falls for all;
The courage of the bird that dares the sea;
The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn;
The friendly welcome of the wayside well;
The mercy of the snow that hides all scars;
The undelaying justice of the light
That gives as freely to the shrinking flower

1 All rights reserved by the author.

As to the great oak flaring to the wind

To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn
That shoulders out the sky.

Born of the ground,

The Great West nursed him on her rugged knees.
Her rigors keyed the sinews of his will;
The strength of virgin forests braced his mind;
The hush of spacious prairies stilled his soul.
The tools were his first teachers, kindly stern.
The plow, the flail, the maul, the echoing ax
Taught him their homely wisdom, and their peace.
A rage for knowledge drove his restless mind:
He fed his spirit with the bread of books,

He slaked his thirst at all the wells of thought.
Hunger and hardship, penury and pain
Waylaid his youth and wrestled for his life.
They came to master, but he made them serve.

From prairie cabin up to Capitol,

One fire was on his spirit, one resolve –

To strike the stroke that rounds the perfect star.
The grip that swung the ax on Sangamon
Was on the pen that spelled Emancipation.
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 thinking heart; And when the judgment thunders split the house, Wrenching the rafters from their ancient rest,