Our Lincoln.
The judgments of the Lord are true, He's righteous in His ivrath; He gives no peace until the sword of justice hews the path. Thus had our Lincoln pondered o'er the cause of all our woe, When he with the occasion rose and struck the fateful blow. With faith that right makes might, he felled disunion's upas-tree; — In giving freedom to the slave, saved freedom for the free. Thenceforth were we thrice armed; we had, though still beneath the rod, The judgment of mankind and favor of Almighty God. At Gettysburg the tide of Southern valor reached its height, And spent its crimson surges 'gainst the rock of Northern might. Again the Father of Waters went unvexed unto the coast; And from Atlanta to the sea Old Glory led our host. The dove of peace went forth once more above the waters dree; At Appomattox found her quest beneath the apple-tree. And then, a lasting peace assured — with malice toward none, Nay more, with charity for all — our Lincoln's work was done. And as he stood on Pisgah's mount and saw the whole land free, Death came and crowned him with the crown of immortality. The mystic chords of patriot love touched by his spirit hand, The chorus of the Union swell all over this broad land. From Plymouth Rock to Golden Gate, from lakelands to the bar, We greet one flag with star for state, — free state for every star.
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