A POEM BY ABEAHAM LINCOLN.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 1152, 30 August 1865, Page 5

A POEM BY ABEAHAM LINCOLN.

The following composition of the late President of the United State?, written many years ago, has a touching interest attached to it :— Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Like a swift flying metear—a fa«t fl^ia^ cloud— A flssb. of the lightning - a break of the wave ■ He pas.eth from, iifo to bis rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak ami the willow shall fads Be scattered around, and together hi laid, Sa the youi? aad the old, the low an i t^s high Skill crumble to dust, and togethar t-lii'.l lie. The infant a mother atteided and loved— The mother, that fnfant'a off jetton who proved ; The father thit mothsr and infint who blest, Kach, all are asvay to that, dwelling of rest. The njai'l oa whose brow, on vrhosa che< ks, in whose eye, Shone beauty and plea-sure—her triumph* are by; And alike from the minds of the Jiving erased Are the metn'riea of mortals who loved her and praised. The hand of Disking that the scsptre hath borne, The brow of the priest tint the mitre hath wo-n, The eye of the sai^e, and the heart of th : brave. Are hi idea aad lost ia the depths of the grave. The'peasaut, whose lot was to bow and to reap ; Tlie.herJsinan, who climbed with his goat* v:> the Etcep; The bejwar, who wandered in i-evcb. of h\z bread, ffava faded away like the grass that we tread. ■^othi multitude goe*, like tha flower or woc-d, That withers away to let others iiaccsetl. So the multitude come*, even tUoizws b hyll, To repeat the name tales that have ohnx bean t)ld. For we are the same our fathers have been, We tea tiie saiie sights oar fathers have seen, We drink the (tamo (stream, we see the same snn, Ami run the came course our father.} have run. The thoughts we are thinkug oar fathers did think; Prom the death we are shrinking oar fathers did shrink; To the life we are clinging cur fathers di cling; But it speeds from us all like the bird on the wing They loved —bat the story we cannot unfold ; They t corned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; They grieved-—but no Wiil from their slumbers will come; They jjyed—but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. They died-ah! they died— we, things that are now. That walk on the turf that lie 3 over their brow, And make in their dwellings a transient abode, Mett the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. Yea, hops and despondency, pleesaro aad pun, Are mingled together in sunshiuj an 1 rain ; And thc3milc and the tear, and the song nnd the dirge, Still follow each othar like surga upon surge. ! Tia the wink of aa eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, From the bloom of health to the patear/s of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and tha shroud ; Oh ! why thould the spirit of mortal be proud.