WIL

VILBUR DICK NESBIT was born at Xenia, BUR Ohio, September 16, 1871. Educated in the public schools at Cedarville, Ohio. Was printer and reporter on various Ohio and Indiana papers until 1898; verse writer and paragrapher Baltimore American, 1899-1902; since that year writer of verse and humor Chicago Evening Post and other newspapers, contributor of stories and poems to magazines and periodicals. Author of Little Henry's Slate, 1903; The Trail to Boyland and Other Poems, 1904; An Alphabet of History, 1905; The Gentleman Ragman, 1906; A Book of Poems, 1906; The Land of Make-Believe and Other Christmas Poems, 1907; A Friend or Two, 1908; The Loving Cup (compilation), 1909; The Old, Old Wish, 1911; My Company of Friends, 1911; If the Heart be Glad, 1911; co-author with Otto Hauerbach of The Girl of My Dreams, a musical comedy, 1910.

N

THE MAN LINCOLN

OT as the great who grow more great
Until from us they are apart―

He walks with us in man's estate;
We know his was a brother heart.
The marching years may render dim
The humanness of other men;

Today we are akin to him

As they who knew him best were then.

Wars have been won by mail-clad hands,

Realms have been ruled by sword-hedged kings,

But he above these others stands

As one who loved the common things;

The common faith of man was his,

The common faith of man he had

For this today his grave face is

A face half joyous and half sad.

A man of earth! Of earthy stuff,
As honest as the fruitful soil,
Gnarled as the friendly trees, and rough
As hillsides that had known his toil;
Of earthy stuff-let it be told,

For earth-born men rise and reveal
A courage fair as beaten gold

And the enduring strength of steel.

So now he dominates our thought.
This humble great man holds us thus
Because of all he dreamed and wrought;
Because he is akin to us.

He held his patient trust in truth

While God was working out His plan, And they that were his foes, forsooth, Came to pay tribute to the Man.

Not as the great who grow more great
Until they have a mystic fame-
No stroke of fortune nor of fate

Gave Lincoln his undying name.
A common man, earth-bred, earth-born,
One of the breed who work and wait-

His was a soul above all scorn.

A

LINCOLN

By Harriet Monroe

ND, lo! leading a blessed host comes one Who held a warring nation in his heart; Who knew love's agony, but had no part In love's delight; whose mighty task was done Through blood and tears that we might walk in joy, And this day's rapture own no sad alloy.

Around him heirs of bliss, whose bright brows wear Palm leaves amid their laurels ever fair.

Gaily they come, as though the drum

Beat out the call their glad hearts knew so well;
Brothers once more, dear as of yore,

Who in a noble conflict nobly fell.

Their blood washed pure yon banner in the sky,
And quenched the brands laid 'neath these arches

high

The brave who, having fought, can never die.

A man of earth! Of earthy stuff,
As honest as the fruitful soil,
Gnarled as the friendly trees, and rough
As hillsides that had known his toil;
Of earthy stuff-let it be told,

For earth-born men rise and reveal
A courage fair as beaten gold

And the enduring strength of steel.

So now he dominates our thought.
This humble great man holds us thus
Because of all he dreamed and wrought;
Because he is akin to us.

He held his patient trust in truth

While God was working out His plan, And they that were his foes, forsooth, Came to pay tribute to the Man.

Not as the great who grow more great
Until they have a mystic fame-
No stroke of fortune nor of fate

Gave Lincoln his undying name.
A common man, earth-bred, earth-born,
One of the breed who work and wait-

His was a soul above all scorn.