Base appetites and, foul with slander, wait
Till the keen lightnings bring the awful hour
When wounds and suffering shall give them power.
Most was he like to Luther, gay and great,
Solemn and mirthful, strong of heart and limb.
Tender and simple, too; he was so near
To all things human that he cast out fear,
And, ever simpler, like a little child,
Lived in unconscious nearness unto Him
Who always on earth's little ones hath smiled.

[Illustration: STATUE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

In the Public Square, Hodgenville, Kentucky.
Adolph A. Weinman, Sculptor]

George Alfred Townsend was born in Georgetown, Delaware, January 30,
1841. In 1860 he began writing for the press and speaking in public,
and in 1860 adopted the profession of journalism. In 1862 he became a
war correspondent for the _New York World_, the _Chicago Tribune_ and
other papers, and made an enviable reputation as a descriptive writer.
He also published a number of books both of prose and poetry.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

The peaceful valley reaching wide,
The wild war stilled on every hand;
On Pisgah's top our prophet died,
In sight of promised land.

Low knelt the foeman's serried fronts,
His cannon closed their lips of brass,--
The din of arms hushed all at once
To let this good man pass.

A cheerful heart he wore alway,
Though tragic years clashed on the while;
Death sat behind him at the play--
His last look was a smile.

No battle-pike his march imbrued,
Unarmed he went midst martial mails,
The footsore felt their hopes renewed
To hear his homely tales.

His single arm crushed wrong and thrall
That grand good will we only dreamed,
Two races wept around his pall,
One saved and one redeemed.

The trampled flag he raised again,
And healed our eagle's broken wing;
The night that scattered armed men
Saw scorpions rise to sting.

[Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOL