Here Lincoln stood, in strong simplicity, And spoke the brief immortal word that rings Forever over earth and over sea, With echo of all brief immortal things. Beneath these numbered stones how many sleep Who beat against the bolted gates of death, And entered in so swiftly none might keep Their names that vanished with their yielded breath! But not in vain these unknown dead have died, Nor those whose names are clearly carven there. Above their rest, the wings of Love are wide . . . There is a sense of glory in the air. Here Lincoln stood, on this blood-quickened sod, And gave himself, these graves, this Land, to God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAIRY THORN; AN ULSTER BALLAD by SAMUEL FERGUSON SONNET by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS GYPSY MAN by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JANUARY by EDMUND SPENSER A COWBOY'S WORRYING LOVE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS INVITES HIS NYMPH TO HIS COTTAGE by PHILIP AYRES RECOLLECTIONS by BERNARD BARTON LETTER TO B.W. PROCTOR, ESQ., FROM OXFORD; MAY, 1825 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |