Abraham Lincoln

His people called, and forth he came

As one that answers to his name;

Nor dreamed how high his charge,

His privilege how large, —

To set the stones back in the wall

Lest the divided house should fall.

The shepherd who would keep

The flocks, would fold the sheep,

Humbly he came, yet with the mien

Presaging the immortal scene, —

Some battle of His wars

Who sealeth up the stars.

No flaunting of the banners bold

Borne by the haughty sons of old;

Their blare, their pageantries,

Their goal, — they were not his.

We called, he came; he came to crook

The spear into the pruning-hook,

To toil, untimely sleep,

And leave a world to weep.