Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LINCOLN HOME, by ZELLA ACKERMAN



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THE LINCOLN HOME, by            
First Line: One sunday, on july the twelfth
Last Line: We know his creed lives -- others can, who will.
Subject(s): Heroism; History; Lincoln, Abraham (1809-1865); Parks; Presidents, United States; Heroes; Heroines; Historians


One Sunday, on July the twelfth,
Three others and myself
Started early on that morn
To see the home where Lincoln was born.

One hundred and sixty-one miles, they say,
To the old farm where he first saw day,
Now made into a National Park,
Where thousands visit, but not for a lark.

The old spring is still beneath the hill,
Though it has been beautified by modern skill;
The original is still preserved,
And does its duty, always serves.

When we stop and linger here,
It seems he lives, it always will.
His memory the world reveres,
And will through all the many years.

From the flagstaff floats Old Glory,
Proud to tell its part of the story:
Of the millions unchained, their birthright gained,
And her colors just as bright and unstained.

His name is reverenced, it has never decayed,
His life was gentle, he was unafraid;
The deeds he did, the thoughts he breathed
Were the best by nature given.

When his life ebbed out, his record was made,
He had done his best, the last word said;
Now to see his humble cabin home upon that hill,
We know his creed lives -- others can, who will.





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