 | Lincoln |  |
686
LINCOLN
By JAMES D. CORROTHERS
I
Upon a flatboat, floating with the tideOf a great river, a young boatman stands,
Lofty of brow; great-hearted; in his hands
An oar to steer his craft. On either side
Of the broad river, sees he, stretching wide,
The waving corn fields and the cotton lands
Where slaves toil in the sun. One whose commands
They do, rides, whip in hand, with brutal pride,
And smites, with bloody, lacerating rod,
Their naked backs 'till crimson shows. “Oh, God!”
Cries the tall woodsman, “if thou hast a plan
To free these bondmen, hath the earth a son
To execute it, Father—even one?”
God's angel whispered: “Aye! thou art the man.”
II
In after years a mighty statesman stoodWhere two roads parted, pondering the way.
Over one road the seeming light of day
Streamed; dark the next road looked, and little good.—
The roads were Self and Human Brotherhood.
Self wound thro' scenes of glory, bright and gay,
While Brotherhood's high lights seemed ashen gray.
He might have chosen as a mortal would,
But for a vision sent him from above:
Again he heard the bondmen's wailing cry
In white fields stretching by a river dim;
Again God's angel came to plead with him.
Knowing it meant, perchance, that he must die,
He turned from Self to Brotherhood and Love.
| Lincoln | |