_January 1, 1863_
Lincoln, that with thy steadfast truth the sand
Of men and time and circumstance dost sway!
The slave-cloud dwindles on this golden day,
And over all the pestilent southern land,
Breathless, the dark expectant millions stand,
To watch the northern sun rise on its way,
Cleaving the stormy distance--every ray
Sword-bright, sword-sharp, in God's invisible hand.
Better with this great end, partial defeat,
And jibings of the ignorant worldly-wise,
Than laud and triumph won with shameful blows.
The dead Past lies in its dead winding-sheet;
The living Present droops with tearful eyes;
But far beyond the awaiting Future glows.
_Edmund Ollier, in London (Eng.) Morning Star._
[Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN