CLUTCHING their bosomed wealth, they made their cry: "Oh, that our Lincoln's strong, unbending frame Might loom against this wild, war-crimsoned sky!" . . . And Lincoln came. He was as when he lived, the quaint and queer Rough casket of the living heart of gold. "And these," he thought, "save they no longer sneer, Are as of old." But they, with lifted faces all aflame, Beheld their hopes new blossoming and cried: "We have no leaders worthy of the name; Be thou our guide!" He bent on them his cryptic smile once more; He gave them timely truth in rough-hewn jests And laid accusing finger on the sore In their own breasts. And all his words Pride's ancient armor found, And all his words rebuilt dismantled years, For lo! the faces circling him around Grew dark with sneers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN I WAS A BIRD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE HAPPIEST HEART by JOHN VANCE CHENEY A CHRISTMAS HYMN (OLD STYLE: 1837) by ALFRED DOMETT THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND by PHILIP FRENEAU SONNET: 12 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE RECALLED by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |