Friday, April 10, 2015

150 Years Ago This Month: April 1865



Dear JSALT Members, Alumni, & Friends:

150 years ago this week, the American Civil War came to an end (April 9th), and President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated by a Confederate sympathizer (April 14th) and died the next morning (April 15th). To help us remember those momentous happenings in April 1865, here are some reflections on the Civil War and Father Abraham, in both poetry and prose.


“Battle Cry of Freedom” (1862)
Composed by George Frederick Root (1820–1895)

1. Yes we’ll rally round the flag, boys, we’ll rally once again,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom,
We will rally from the hillside, we’ll gather from the plain,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!

Chorus:
The Union forever! Hurrah, boys, hurrah!
Down with the traitors, up with the stars;
While we rally round the flag, boys, we rally once again,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!

2. We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!
And we’ll fill our vacant ranks with a million freemen more,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!

(Chorus)

3. We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true and brave,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!
And although they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!

(Chorus)

4. So we’re springing to the call from the East and from the West,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom;
And we’ll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love best,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom.

(Chorus)

Poem on the 100th Anniversary of the Birth of Abraham Lincoln (1909)
By Julia Ward Howe (1819-1910)
(Note: Howe was also the author of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” in 1861.)

Through the dim pageant of the years
A wondrous tracery appears:
A cabin of the western wild
Shelters in sleep a new-born child.

Nor nurse, nor parent dear can know
The way those infant feet must go;
And yet a nation’s help and hope
Are sealed within that horoscope.

Beyond is toil for daily bread,
And thought, to noble issues led,
And courage, arming for the morn
For whose behest this man was born.

A man of homely, rustic ways,
Yet he achieves the forum’s praise,
And soon earth’s highest meed has won,
The seat and sway of Washington.

No throne of honors and delights;
Distrustful days and sleepless nights,
To struggle, suffer and aspire,
Like Israel, led by cloud and fire.

A treacherous shot, a sob of rest,
A martyr’s palm upon his breast,
A welcome from the glorious seat
Where blameless souls of heroes meet;

And, thrilling through unmeasured days,
A song of gratitude and praise;
A cry that all the earth shall heed,
To God, who gave him for our need.

Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910) on Abraham Lincoln
Printed in the New York World – 1909

“Of all the great national heroes and statesmen of history Lincoln is the only real giant. Alexander, Frederick the Great, Caesar, Napoleon, Gladstone and even Washington stand in greatness of character, in depth of feeling and in a certain moral power far behind Lincoln. Lincoln was a man of whom a nation has a right to be proud; he was a Christ in miniature, a saint of humanity, whose name will live thousands of years in the legends of future generations. We are still too near to his greatness, and so can hardly appreciate his divine power; but after a few centuries more our posterity will find him considerably bigger than we do. His genius is still too strong and too powerful for the common understanding, just as the sun is too hot when its light beams directly on us.”

“Lincoln” by Vachel Lindsay (1879-1931)

Would I might rouse the Lincoln in you all,
That which is gendered in the wilderness
From lonely prairies and God’s tenderness.
Imperial soul, star of a weedy stream,
Born where the ghosts of buffaloes still dream,
Whose spirit hoof-beats storm above his grave,
Above that breast of earth and prairie-fire —
Fire that freed the slave.


In memoriam Patris Abrahami,
Robertus :)


“Your task is not to foresee the future, but to enable it.”
-- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (1900-1944): The Wisdom of the Sands (1948)

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