« ZurückWeiter »
How you cheered her sad heart, and soothed it to rest, '
C. E. L. HOLMES.
T AM thy father's spirit;
EXTRACT FROM A SERMON BY HENRY WARD BEECHER.
1 this experience as they never were before; and the
cruel stroke, seems, in the providence of God, to have been clothed, now, with an illustration, with a sympathy, with an aptness, and with a siguificance, such as we never could have expected nor imagined. God, I think, has said, by the voice of this event, to all nations of the earth : “Republican liberty, based upon true Christianity, is firm as the foundation of the globe.”
Even he who now sleeps has, by this event, been clothed with new influence. Dead, he speaks to men who now willingly hear what before they refused to listen to. Now his simple and weighty words will be gathered like those of Washington, and your children, and your children's children, shall be taught to ponder the simplicity and deep wisdom of utterances which, in their time, passed, in party heat, as idle words. Men will receive a new impulse of patriotism for his sake, and will guard with zeal the whole country which he loved so well. I swear you, on the altar of his memory, to be more faithful to the country for which he has perished. They will, as they follow his hearse, swear a new hatred to that slavery against which he warred, and which, in vanquishing him, has made him a martyr and a conqueror. I swear you by the memory of this martyr to hate slavery with an unappeasable hatred. They will admire and imitate the firmness of this man, his inflexible conscience for the right; and yet his gentleness, as tender as a woman's, his moderation of spirit, which not all the heat of party could inflame, nor all the jars and disturbances of this country shake out of its place. I swear you to an emulation of his justice, his moderation, and his mercy.
You I can comfort; but how can I speak to that twilight million to whom his name was as the name of an angel of God? There will be wailing in places which
no minister shall be able to reach. When, in hovel and in cot, in wood and in wilderness, in the field throughout the South, the dusky children, who looked upon him as that Moses whom God sent before them to lead them out of the land of bondage, learn that he has fallen, who shall comfort them? O thou Shepherd of Israel, that Jidst comfort Thy people of old, to Thy care we commit the helpless, the long-wronged, and grieved.
And now the martyr is moving in triumphal march, mightier than when alive. The nation rises up at every stage of his coming. Cities and States are his pallbearers, and the cannon beats the hours with solemn progression. Dead, dead, DEAD, he yet speaketh. Is Washington dead? Is Hampden dead? Is David dead? Is any man that ever was fit to live dead? Disenthralled of flesh, and risen in the unobstructed sphere where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work. His life now is grafted upon the infinite, and will be fruitful as no earthly life can be. Pass on, thou that hast overcome!
Your sorrows, 0 people! are his peace. Your bells, and bands, and muffled drums sound triumph in his ear. Wail and weep here! Pass on!
Four years ago, O Illinois ! we took from your midst an untried man, and from among the people. We return him to you a mighty conqueror. Not thine any more, but the nation's; not ours, but the world's. Give him place, O ye prairies!
In the midst of this great continent his dust shall rest, a sacred treasure to myriads who shall pilgrim to that shrine to kindle anew their zeal and patriotism. Ye winds that move over the mighty places of the West, chant his requiem! Ye people, behold a martyr whose blood, as so many articulate words, pleads for fidelity, for law, for liberty !
The following poem was written by Miss Phila H. Case, and originally appeared in the SCHOOLDAY MAGAZINE, in March, 1867. It has been noticed and copied and sung and spoken almost everywhere, even finding its way into more than one English publication, and has really become a little "nobody's child," so far as its authorship and due credit are concerned.
Two years ago the poem was set to music and published in St. Louis, ascribed to “E. D.” Later it appeared in books of selections under the name of “Phila II. Child," but has very often appeared without credit whatever. The poem is printed here from the author's original inanuscript.
A LONE in the dreary, pitiless street,
Just over the way there's a flood of light,
No father, no mother, no sister, not one
Phila H. CASE.
MHE Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
1 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures : He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.