SAAC BASSETT CHOATE, born at South Otis Field, Maine, July 12, 1833. Bachelor of Arts, Bowdoin College, 1862. Author of Wild Birds and Flowers, 1895; Wells of English, 1892; Obeyed the Camel Driver, 1899; Apollo's Guest, 1907.

By special invitation from the faculty of the Alumni Association of said College he read the following poem at their annual banquet held on the centenary of Lincoln's birth, 1909:

F

THE MATCHLESS LINCOLN

ROM out the ranks of common men he rose-
Himself of common elements, yet fine—

As in a wood of different species grows

Above all other trees the lordly pine,

Upon whose branches rest the winter snows,

Upon whose head warm beams of summer shine; His was the heart to feel the people's woes And his the hand to hold the builder's line; Strong, patient, wise and great,

Born ruler of the State.

Among a mountain group one sovereign peak
Will tower aloft unto commanding height
As if more distant view abroad to seek—

First one to hail, last one to speed the light;
Those granite sides will snows of winter streak
E'en in the summer with their purest white;—
Silent, serene, that summit yet will speak
Of loftiest grandeur to the enraptured sight;
So Lincoln's greatness shone
Supreme, unmatched, alone.

CHA

HARLOTTE BECKER was born and has always lived in Buffalo, New York. She was educated in private schools and in Europe, and has written poems for Harper's Magazine, The Metropolitan, The American, Life, etc., besides a number of songs which have been set to music by Amy Woodfords-Finden, C. B. Hawley, Whitney Coombs and others.

G

LINCOLN

AUNT, rough-hewn face, that bore the furrowed signs

Of days of conflict, nights of agony,

And still could soften to the gentler lines

Of one whose tenderness and truth went free Beyond the pale of any small confines

To understand and help humanity.

Wise, steadfast mind, that grasped a people's need, Counting nor pain nor sacrifice too great

To keep the noble purpose of his creed

Strong against all buffeting of Fate,

Though no least solace sprang of work or deed
For him, since triumph came at last-too late.

Brave, weary heart, that beat uncomforted
Beneath its heavy load of grief and care;
That tears of blood for every battle shed,
Yet called on mirth to help his comrades bear
The waiting hours of anguish, and that sped
With loyal haste each breath of balm to share.

Only his people's griefs were his; no part
Had he within their joy; nor his the toll
To know the love that made rebellion start,
Spurred hosts unnumbered to a higher goal;
That his great soul should cleanse a nation's heart,
His martyred heart awake a nation's soul.