113 
i 
LINCOLN, THE MAN OF THE 
Lincoln’s Humble Birthplace in ‘‘Kaintuck” and the Impressive Memorial on the Potomac Dedicated to Him 
Ameriipan Agriculturist, February 1.0,1923 
W HEN the Norn- 
Mother saw the 
Whirlwind Hour, 
Greatening and darkening as 
it hurried on. 
She bent the strenuous Heav¬ 
ens and came down 
To make a man to meet the 
mortal need. 
She took the tried clay of the 
common road— 
Clay warm yet with the ge¬ 
nial heat of Earth, 
Dashed through it all a 
strain o^ prophecy; ' 
Tempered the heap with 
thrill of human tears; 
Then mixed a laughter with 
the serious stuff. 
It was a stuff to wear for centuries, 
A man that matched 'the mountains, 
and compelled 
The stars to look our way and honor 
us. 
The color of the ground was in him, 
the red earth; 
The tang and odor of the primal 
things— 
The rectitude and patience of the 
rocks; 
The gladness of the wind that shakes 
the corn; 
The courage of the bird that dares the 
sea; 
The justice of the rain that loves all 
leaves; 
The pity of the snow that hides all 
scars; 
The loving-kindness of the wayside 
well; 
The tolerance and equity of light 
That gives as freely to the shrinking 
weed 
As to the great oak flaring to the 
wind— 
“Four-score and seven years ago—” 
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On th? wills of Brascnose College, Oxford University, Englirid, this letter of the 
“nil-splitter” President hangs as a model of purest English, rarely, if ever, surpassed. 
To the grave’s low hill as to 
the Matterhorn 
That shoulders out the 
sky. 
And so he came. 
From prairie cabin up to 
Capitol, 
One fair Ideal led our chief¬ 
tain on. 
Forevermore he burned to 
do his deed 
With the fine stroke and ges¬ 
ture of a king. 
He built the rail-pile as he 
built the State, 
Pouring his splendid strength 
through every blow, 
The conscience of him test¬ 
ing every stroke, 
To make his deed the measure of a man. 
/ 
So came the Captain with the mighty 
heart; 
And when the step of Earthquake 
shook the house, 
Wrenching the rafters from their 
ancient hold. 
He held the ridgepole up, and spiked 
again 
The rafters of the Home. He held 
his place— 
Held the long purpose like a growing 
tree— 
Held on through blame and faltered 
not at praise. 
And when he fell in whirlwind, he 
went down 
As when a kingly cedar green with 
boughs 
Goes down with a great shout upon the 
hills, 
And leaves a lonesome place against 
the sky. — Edwin Markham 
♦ TJiis poem, awarded first prize o£ many hundreds 
submitted, was read by the author at the recent 
dedication of the Lincoln Memorial. 
