A sermon preached on the Sunday after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, late president of the United States : together with remarks made on the day of his funeral

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A SEKMON

DPreaeliecl on the
SUNDAY AFTER THE ASSASSINATION OF

ABRAHAM LINCOLN,

LATE PRESIDENT OP THE UNITED STATES,

TOGETHER WITH

EEMAEKS,.

MADE ON THE DAY OF HIS FUNERAL,

BY
CHARLES CARROLL EVERETT,

Pastor of the Independent Congregational Church of Bangor.

BANGOR:

PRINTED BY BENJ. A. BURR.

1365.

A SERMON

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE DEATH OF

ABRAHAM LINCOLN,

LATE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES,

IPreached In the Independent Congregational

Church of

BANGOR,

ON EASTER SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 1865,

BY

CHARLES CARROLL EVERETT,

Pastor of the Society.

BANGOR:

PRINTED BY BENJ. A. BURR.

1865.

Easter Sunday,

April 16, 1865.

Dear Sir :

The very appropriate and admirable sermon delivered by you
this morning on the death of Abraham Lincoln, late President
of the United States, deserves, as we think, a wider circulation
and a more permanent form. Will you favor us with the
manuscript that we may cause it to.be published.
Yours Truly

SAMUEL H. DALE,
FRANKLIN MUZZY,
G. K. JEWETT,
CHARLES STETSON,
H. E. PRENTISS,
F. M. SABINE,
ISAIAH STETSON.
Rev. C. C. EVERETT,

Pastor of the Ind. Cong. Soc, Bangor.

Third Street, April 18th, 1865.
Gentlemen :

I am very glad that the sermon, referred to in your note of
the sixteenth instant, seemed to you to express, in any degree,
the common feeling at this time of national bereavement ; and
1 herewith enclose the manuscript as you request.

Yours very truly,

C. C. EVERETT.
Hon. SAMUEL H. DALE,
Hon. FRANKLIN MUZZY,
G. K. JEWETT, Est;.,
Hon. CHARLES STETSON,
II. E. PRENTISS, Esq.,
F. M. SABINE, Esq.,
Hon. ISAIAH STETSON.

SERMON".

And Elisha saw it and he cried, My Father !
My Father ! * * *

2 Kings, 2: 12.

Last Sunday, which in the Calendar of the church
was Palm Sunday, we came up to the church rejoicing,
with palms in our hands; while on that very day our
generals won for us the great and the crowning victor
ry. To-day, on this Easter Sunday, while the earth, aris-
ing from the death of winter, was thrilling with the new
life of the spring, while our hearts looked, backward to
the promise that was in Christ, and forward to our own
immortality, we were to have celebrated the new birth
of our nation springing into life, purified and as we be-
lieved immortal* Which ever way we looked, all seem-
ed full of life and promise* But between these two
days of festival, came the sad day on which the church
commemorates the death of its head. Every heart was
so jubilant, that I shrank from calling you togeth-
er upon that sad commemoration. I felt, that to
most it would seem out of place, though I knew
that there were some, who would find in such a
service relief for hearts swollen and heavy with sad

memories, memories they hardly dared, it may be, to
think of, in the glare of the common exultation. Lit-
tle did I dream, little did any of us dream, that on
that day, we were not merely to commemorate, but to
pass through, a scene which more than any other that
could have occurred in our nation, or in the world,
would bring us near to the sadness, the unutterable
sorrow associated with that day. Little did we
think that amid our Palm Sundays and our Easters, the
Good Friday would be the only day that should be in
harmony with our sad hearts ; that we should gather
on this Easter morning and find not life but death ; not
the risen glory but the tomb, with no angel's hand to
roll away for us the stone.

I have said, that more than any other possible
event, the assassination of our President brought us
near to the fact, which the day on which he fell com-
memorated. If, when Charles the First of England
was led on Good Friday to his execution, his followers
could, without reproach, compare at every step the
death of their king with that of their Savior; if they
could remark, how he Avas led forth to the soldiers to
be mocked and buffeted by them ; if they could remark
how he, weighed down by the weariness of sorrow,,
sank upon the ground, during the sad march ; how he
died full of forgiveness to his enemies ; and thus in all
these and other particulars recall the events in Jerusa-
lem and on Calvary; well may we — when the embod-

5

iment of practical Christianity in this 19th century is
smitten down by the hand of the assassin, when the
pure, the true, the beloved, the Father of his people,
the Liberator of the Slave, falls a victim to whatever
is worst in oppression and in anarchy alike — well may
we associate it with what is most sorrowful and most
divine in our religious history, with the fall of him who
cried : "Inasmuch as ye have done it to the least of
these, ye have done it unto me." We remember now,
what we read with a smile before, how the poor freed
negroes of Richmond greeted him by the name of "Je-
sus," him their savior and their deliverer. To them
he did represent, so far as any outward form could do it,
the power of Christ, to break the chain and set the
captive free. To the oppressor and the traitor he al~
so represented whatever is best in Christianity; practi-
cally he stood to them for Christ. The crown of his
sovereignty they wove for him of thorns, and these four
years he has worn it simply, gently, and without com-
plaint. The last words of his that have come to us
were of mercy and of forgiveness. Then came
that final blow, which was to make him a martyr to
the cause and to the country that he loved. And now
he is gone. Our Father is dead. He has fallen by
the hand of the assassin. He has fallen, because he was
so great, and so good, and so incorruptible. He has
fallen and we feel ourselves orphans. We know not
to whom to look, save to God. Our bereaved spirits

6
draw close to him for strength and consolation, trusting
that he who has watched over us so long will not leave
us now. But yet how empty will now the grandest
triumphs seem. The thought of his honest, well earn-
ed gladness brought to us one of the purest joys of
victory. His quaint and quiet words seemed first to
express worthily the nation's rejoicing. Without him
jubilee will be like mourning. The assassin chose well
the object of his stroke. With one blow he pierced
every loyal heart.

And yet though our Father is gone, it is not for
him or for his fate that we mourn. His life could hard-
ly have been more fortunate. His death could hardly
have been at a more glorious moment. The most
prominent and striking part of his work was done. The
most harassing part of it remained. He had lived to
see himself Leader, by might as well as by right, of the
whole country. He had lived to be welcomed into the
Capital of the Enemy as a deliverer. He had lived to re-
ceive the thanksgiving of the millions of slaves that he
had set free. He had lived to see the Rebellion end
where it began, to see the dishonored flag lifted again
over the battered walls of Sumter, amid a nation's ju-
bilee. He had lived to know himself enshrined in the
love of every loyal heart, to find himself trusted by
the people that he loved, a second time, with the power
of the State. He seemed as near, as dear, as tenderly
beloved, as it was possible fer a man to be in the heart

of his nation. We did not know that it was possible for
him to be dearer to us than he was. We know it
now. His glory and the love we bore him needed on-
ly martyrdom to make them sacred. When Caesar, the
tyrant, fell, the people, who before had hated him, be-
gan almost to love him and to follow his murderers
with thoughts of vengeance. What idolizing love shall
the death awaken of him whom we thought we loved as
much as possible before. Henry the Fourth of France
was assassinated, and ever after the people of France
spoke of him tenderly as the good King Henry. Wil-
liam the Silent, the founder and the Father of the
Dutch Republic, whose history and character have all
along seemed to have a strange and beautiful resem-
blance to that of Mr. Lincoln, the same integrity, the
same modesty, the same quietness, the same immova-
ble purpose, the same devotion of his people and the
same success in defending them, fell, like him, from the
shot of an assassin, fell, crying "God pity my poor peo-
ple," and his glory became almost an apotheosis. Lin-
coln needed only this, to stand among the martyrs as
well as among the deliverers of his race. Such a blow
as this consigns to everlasting infamy the hand from
which it comes, but to a new, a transfigured and an
eternal glory, him who falls beneath it.

And while we cannot regret this fate so far as his
outer history is concerned, neither can we, least of all
on this Easter Sunday, regret it for himself. Ours is

the death, not his. Already has he entered on his reward.
The voice of earthly jubilee has been changed for the
greetings and the joy of Heaven. Already the pure,
the incorruptible, the humble souls of all times, have
welcomed him ; already has Washington greeted him
as brother ; and Christ welcomed him with the "well

done good and faithful servant," which is the crown of
his reward. — Not for thee, incorruptible patriot and
humble Christian, not for thee, our Father, honored
and beloved, do we lament. Thy fame is safe with
history, thy name is enshrined in a nation's memory ;
thy soul is safe with God. Not for thee do we mourn,
but for our country and ourselves. — We had leaned so
long upon that true heart and that trusty arm, we had
looked so long for counsel to those wise lips, that now
we hardly know where to turn for strength and guid-
ance. There have been times in the history of the
war when everything seemed dark and hopeless. The
nation had lost its faith in its generals, and faith in its
counsellors, but through all this darkness and doubt,
there was one light that burned with pure and steady
ray. There was one heart on which we rested with
absolute security. The nation from first to last has
never lost its faith in Abraham Lincoln. Detraction
has never dared to sully the purity of his character or
to impeach the simplicity of Iris motives ; and in spite
of strife and difference the great mass of the nation
has never lost its faith in his wisdom and slnewdness,

any more than in his honesty and uprightness. Had
he been only honest, honesty in such a time, united
with good common sense, is worth everything. But he
was not only honest. History, I believe, will recog-
nize his greatness. His character had a completeness
such as few can boast. Others may be as gentle, as
complaisant, but will they be as firm ? They may wear
as soft a glove, but will there be the mailed hand beneath
it? Others may be as firm, they may smite with as
heavy a stroke, but will the mailed hand be gloved ? —
Others may be as shrewd, but will they be as sincere ?
Others may be as pure hearted, but will they be as
wise ? His character in its simple and complete one-
ness is like the seamless robe that Jesus wore. When
Christ was slain, that seamless robe was torn in pieces
and divided among his murderers. Who among the
friends of our martyred President will be found to wear
that seamless robe of graceful and harmonious virtues,
in which all were present, but in which each was so
interwoven with the other, that you could draw no sep-
arating line ; so that you hardly knew, whether you
should call his firmness mildness or his mildness firm-
ness; whether his earnestness was sport, or his sport
was earnestness ; whether his simplicity was wisdom or
his wisdom was simplicity. We only know that his
firmness was always mild, and his mildness was always
firm ; that his sport was always earnest and his simplic-
ity was always wise. But now we must learn to fol-

10

low another voice; now we must learn to trust in anoth-
er's wisdom. Yet while we mourn our loss, we will
rejoice and thank God, that Ave did strengthen and cheer
him by our confidence, that he knew that the heart of

the people was with him.

But while we mourn thus for our nation's Chief so

untimely fallen, we remember — thank God, not with-
out hope — another victim, whose fate at any other mo-
ment would have absorbed our sympathy and interest.
William H. Seward, we praise in the heartiest language
possible to-day, when we say, that he was worthy to be
the Secretary of State in an administration of which
Abraham Lincoln was the chief. With less openness
of speech, less homely simplicity, he yet blended in
a large degree qualities like his. He has guided our
foreign relations in this difficult period with firm and
careful hand. He has saved our honor and preserved
peace ; and it needed not the sharing of the assassin's
stroke, to make the name of Seward associated with
that of Lincoln, in the memory of these dark yet glo-
rious years.

But though the hand of the murderer thus struck
down our most trusted and most beloved, though thus
he reached the heart of every one of us, yet there is
that which will suffer yet more terribly from the blow,
and that is the Confederacy in whose name he struck,
and the deadly system which was its foundation and
its life. Lincoln was at the stroke translated into
heavenly and earthly glory. Our country was by it

11

roused into new, stern life ; but the Southern confed-
eracy and Southern Slavery were by it thrust into a
pit of infamy, a depth beneath all other deeps, which
we did not believe to be possible. I know there was
not any confederate government to authorize the act.
I do not believe that it would have been authorized if
there had been such a government. I do not belieVe
that the mass of the rebels would have assented to it,
or will applaud it. I believe that it will bring many a
misguided traitor to his senses. Yet the Southern
Confederacy cannot escape the ignominy of it ; and
Southern Slavery was its inspiring cause. I do not
mean that the blow was struck for the sake of slavery,
but that it was one of the results of this system. Sla-
very is brutal and brutalizing. It Was that which
struck down Sumner, taking him as he was stooping
and unaware. It was that which stirred the passion
of the South into this terrible war. It was that wrhich
has starved and tortured our brave boys in the South-
ern prisons. It was that which massacred our colored
soldiers in cold blood; that which stood by the bedside
of the sick and helpless Seward, striking him in the
name of Southern chivalry. It was that which fired
the deadly shot at our beloved President, shouting "Sic
semper tyrannis." ffSic semper (yrannis /" Did
the murderer mean not only the obvious import of
the words, but did he also mean to strike in the name
of Virginia, whose motto he used for his assassin cry ?

12

Did lie wish that henceforth the once honored State,
once known as the mother of States and of Presidents,
should become branded, not merely as the destroyer of
States, but, as the slayer of Presidents? I believe that
Virginia herself, sunken as she is, would reject and re-
pel the ignominy. But yet this act and this cry let us
more deeply into the heart and nature of the foe with
which we have been dealing.

I told you last week that the Confederacy had
lasted long enough to show its principles for what they
were. I was mistaken. One thing more remained. —
The shot and the dagger of the assassin had not yet
been used. These were still a power in reserve. Their
"Death to tyrants" had not yet been shown to mean
the murder of the kindest hearted, gentlest and most
loving soul that ever bore the name of ruler.

I will not charge the confederacy with this act,
though it will, not wholly wrongfully, bear the shame of
it. I do charge it upon the brutalizing system of
Slavery upon which the confederacy was built. As I
have told you time and again, a system that ceases to
recognize man as man, introduces the possibility of end-
less barbarism. It nurtures a brutal self-will which
knows no law but the law of force, no humanity but
that of caste and party, no principle but that of self-
interest. It was Slavery that slew Lincoln. He, chal-
lenged by it to deadly strife, had smitten it to the earth.
He had placed his foot upon the monster's head. It

13

stung him with the concentrated poison of the mad-
ness of its death struggle. It stung him to death, but
he died a victor.

Perhaps all this was needed to rouse the loyal spirit
of the North to destroy and root out and annihilate eveiy
fragment and every trace of this vile injustice ; to
sweep from the statute book, to sweep from all chance
of actual existence, every trace of inequality between
man and man. Itself roused us to this struggle. It
forced us to smite it to the earth ; and now, while we
might have been growing too lax and easy, with this
most terrible wound, it stung us into the madness of a
righteous wrath and a stern inflexible purpose.

For though it has slain Abraham Lincoln, he, be-
loved and honored above all others, yet was neither the
nation, nor the principle, and least of all was he God.
He was but a man, an instrument. Less than almost
any other did his child-like spirit seek personal ends in
the war; and less than almost any other was he governed
by the excitement of personal feeling. Thank God, the
war, as carried on under his guidance, was pure and hon-
orable. "We may throw open our record to the world ;
you may search the record of the world and you will
never find a war so free from inhumanity. It was
not Lincoln fighting for power, and to punish his
enemies. It was the country, it was the principle, it
was God using him as the instrument. The instru-
ment is broken but the power remains. The rebels

14

have lost more in Lincoln than we have lost. He was

their wisest friend. I fancy that President Johnson

will not be more lenient than the man that they have

slain. Johnson, the stern, uncompromising,true-heart*

ed patriot, Southerner though he is; and because he is

a Southerner, fired with a spirit that no Northern man

can wholly share, Johnson with the whole bereaved,

indignant, maddened Union to back him, will make

short, sharp work with what remains of the rebellion

and its root.

Spite of all, it is still Easter morning. Still the

glad promise of immortality rings through the world; of
immortality for the soul, of immortality for whatever
is right in principle or true in thought, immortality for
justice and for liberty.

Spite of all God reigns. Did you choose Presi-
dent Lincoln ? Did you know what he was when you
called him from his comparative obscurity ? You took
him because you did not know. You, not dreaming of
the volcanic fires that were rolling and rumbling un-
der your feet, were playing the old game. You want-
ed an available candidate, good but not too good. But
God knew what was coming. Where you thought you
had a good politician, he gave you a statesman. Where
you thought you had an available candidate, he gave
you a second Washington. And can you believe that
a nation founded by Washington, which, almost a cen-
tury after its birth, saw, at its time of need, a pure, wise

15

and incorruptible patriot at its head ; a man who shall
stand in coming time by the side of its founder, in
equal honor, can you believe that such a nation, will
not be cared for, if it be true to itself, cared for till the
end ?

But while we begin thus a new era in the war,
while we follow the assassins of our chiefs and the
stirrers up of treason, with the stern punishment that is
their due; while we tear up, root and branch, every frag-
ment of that accursed crime against humanity which
has brought upon us this terrible retribution ; let us
not forget the spirit and the counsels of him we mourn.
Let not our zealous love for our Father destroy his
work. When we read the sacred words of prophecy ;
"He shall not cry nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be
heard in the street. A bruised reed shall he not break,
and the smoking flax shall he not quench, he shall bring
jorth judgment unto truth," are we not reminded of
him ? Do not the words recall the quaint wisdom of
his last public speech in which he bade us not crush the
egg that might be hatched ? — In the fire of our patri-
otism, of our righteous indignation, of our stern justice,
let us not forget the parting caution of our President.
Let us be careful, that we do not crush a single germ,
that may spring up into life, and into healthful, beauti-
ful strength.

"Calmly, calmly lay him down
He hath fought a noble fight ;
He hath battled for the right ;
He hath won the fadeless crown.

Memories all too bright for tears,
Crowd around us from the past ;
He was faithful to the last, —
Faithful through long, toilsome years.

All that makes for human good,
Freedom, Righteousness and truth,
These, the objects of his youth,
Unto age he still pursued.

Kind and gentle was his soul,
Yet it had a glorious might ;
Clouded minds it filled with light,
Wounded spirits it made whole —

Huts where poor men sat distressed,
Homes where death had darkly passed,
Beds where suffering breathed its last,
These he sought, and soothed and blessed.

Hoping, trusting, lay him down !
Many in the realms above
Look for him with eyes of love,
Wreathing his immortal crown."

remarks made in connection with the servi-
ces held in the independent congregational
Church of Bangor, on the day of the Funeral
of President Lincoln, April 19th, 1865, by
Charles Carroll Everett, Pastor of the So-
ciety.

One of the most striking circumstances, connected
with the mourning of the last few days, is the perfect
adaptation by which expressions of sorrow and of praise,
uttered on the most diverse occasions, and in relation
to characters the most unlike, seem as if they had been
uttered to express our mourning, and to describe our
loss. We open the pages of Shakespeare, and find pas-
sages full of his purest genius, that seem the fittest
words that could be spoken in praise of our departed
President. In turning over the leaves of a hymn-book,
I met the dirge which I have just read. Had I told
you that it was written to be used on this occasion, you
would have thought that it was most true, and most
beautifully appropriate. Even when we open the Bi-
ble, Ave find everywhere words that seem full of our sor-
row, words that utter the virtues and the perfect char-
acter of him for whom we mourn. Last Sunday I read
you of him who would not break the bruised reed or
quench the smoking flax, and the words brought not
only the general character, but the last counsels of Lin-
coln to our mind. And just now, when I was reading
to you the words of Jesus, those dear Beatitudes seem-
ed only blessing after blessing heaped upon his name.

Blessed are the poor in spirit. Was not he poor
in spirit? From the beginning to the end of his career,

3

18
you will look in vain for any trace of pride or self ex-
altation. In the freshness of his power, in the first
flush of victory, you find only a self forgetting humili-
ty. The haughty Southerner would call it meanness of
soul. But Christ called it blessed. Blessed are the
poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.
Even here, he tasted something of the peace of that
kingdom whose instrument he was; and now our faith
can follow his spirit, as it enters upon the fullness of its

Blessed are they that mourn for thcij shall be com-
forted. Who mourned like him, for our country's sor-
row? Who shed such bitter tears over her sons fallen
in battle ? Who felt with, such keen agony the woe of
each repulse? And he was comforted. Who could
feel the joy of victory, like him who had known the full
terror of the strife ? Who could enjoy the rest, like
him who had borne the burden? This comfort came
to him upon the earth. But now he has tasted that con-
solation that almost drives out the very memory of sor-
row. He has felt the touch of the hand that wipes
away all tears from the eyes of the blessed.

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth..—
We used to wonder, when we read in the Bible that
Moses the leader and the deliverer of his people, who
conquered for them their enemies, while he restrained
their own rebellious wills, was the meekest of men.
We understand the mystery now. We have seen the
meekest of men sustain a nation by his strength, and
conquer its enemies by his persistent will. ISot only
the kingdom of Heaven was his reward. The earth
also was his inheritance.

Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after

19

righteousness. How did he hunger and thirst after right-
eousness ( When, almost a stranger to us, he was com-
ing to our help in the hour of our need, how did we
hang on every word of his, and watch the smallest ac-
tion. We thought that he would come with ready pur-
pose, with plans matured and hand ready to execute.
He came seeking after the right. His friends gather-
ed around him as he left his distant home. He only
asked their prayers. Eager crowds surrounded him at
every pause in his long journey. He said only, that
he should try and find what was right to do. He should
seek after the best course and follow it. We almost
feared that he had no mind or purpose of his own. We
did not know that these words expressed the hunger
and the thirst of his spirit. And he was filled, and we
all shared his fullness.

Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy.
He was merciful. Not the madness of defeat or the
intoxication of victory could kindle in him the spirit
of revenge. His mercy tempered and softened all our
hearts.

Blessed are the ]>ure in heart for they shall see God.
These words most of all seem to picture the spirit of
our President, which, free from all stain of self-Avill
or self-seeking, left a free passage for the light of God
to pass into it, and through it. He saw God. He saw
which way his hand was pointing; and that way he
walked, leading the nation after him. He saw God;
but who shall picture to his thought the vision that
dawned upon his sight, as his spirit left the darkness
that we call the light of earth, and entered upon that
higher life, to see as it was seen and to know as itself
was known.

20

Blessed are the Peacemakers for they shall be call-
ed the children of God. He was a Peacemaker;, not
merely as the cannon is a peacemaker. Through all
the struggle, he has known how to unite the hearts of
loyal men, making them see where they could agree and
forget their points of difference. He was commencing
the same work with the returning rebels.

Here begin the blessings which come at the cost
of stern duties and cruel suffering. Blessed are they
whieh are 'persecuted for righteousness'' sake, for theirs is
the kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are ye when men shall
revile you and persecute you and shall say all manner of
evil against you, falsely, for my sake. Rejoice and be ex-
ceeding glad, jor so persecuted they the prophets, which
were before you. He tasted also this bitter cup. Men
reviled him and persecuted him and spake all manner
of evil against him falsely for the sake of Christ. The
names Tyrant, and Despot, and whatever is worst and
harshest in human utterance, were linked in the mad
speech of men with his pure name. And at last he
fell by the assassin's stroke. He fell, as so many a
prophet had fallen before him, and shared the death
and the crown of martyrdom.

It is this fullness of character, to which the most
diverse praise fits gracefully as if it were designed for
it, which makes our sorrow to-day so deep, entering in-
to the very heart and center of our lives. To-day the
nation laments more than its President. It stands in
the garments of mourning, in silence and in tears, by
the open grave of its Father. To-day the nation is still.
Prom the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, from Maine far
down as the flag floats, there is silence. The cities are
still. The streets are still. There is no sound but the

21

slow boom of the cannon, the measured toll of the bell,
and the sad voices of the chanted dirge. These forms
do not express the nation's grief. When the poor strick-
en soul, whose dearest friend is gone, wraps about it the
black garments of mourning, do they express its sor-
row ? Such a thought would seem mockery to it. They
only screen it from the world. They shut out its gar-
ish light, and separate the mourner from its glad life,
and trifling gayety. So these formalities, which accom-
pany the nation's mourning, do not utter it. They on-
ly effect that nothing shall come between it and its sor-
row.

Lincoln was indee d the leader and the deliverer
of the people. He seemed to be lent to us simply for
this work. We hardly knew him before. He left us
when the chief peril was over. It is like the stories
that we read, the legends of the elder times, in which
at the darkest hour of conflict, a Divinity descends and
turns the tide of battle ; but so soon as the perilous mo-
ment is passed departs again, waiting for no gratitude
and claiming not his portion of the triumph. So he
came to us, unknown before, like a revelation of strength
and trusty firmness; and so he left us, just when the
first shout of victory told that the strife was over. Thus
did he save us. Yet he was only a simple hearted, a
true hearted, a tender hearted man. This is why we
loved him so, and why we so mourn for him to-day.
He was so near to us, that he entered into our hearts.
It would be strange to one who did not know the cir-
cumstances of the case, to hear how often the word
"Father," has fallen from trembling lips these few last
days. "I feel," says one, and another, and another, "as
if I had lost my Father", or, "as I did when my Father

died." Such is the common feeling- and the common
word.

As, in expressing the bereavement of our own hearts
we use the word "Father," so in speaking of the nation's
loss we use the name of Washington. We do this not
because Washington was ours ; the world claims him
now; but because through history, we can find no hero at
once so pure, so unselfish, and so triumphant as he.
And when we place our Lincoln by the side of our
Washington, let no one think that we take anything
from the honor of the founder of the Republic. Rath-
er do we multiply his honor. The great imperfection,
that has sullied the fame of many of the greatest law-
givers and heroes that have lived, is, that at their death
their work died with them. The laws of Solon failed
because there was no Solon to enforce them. The em-
pire of Charlemagne crumbled at his death for the lack
of another Charlemagne. The glory of Florence de-
parted with her Lorenzo. Thus a certain failure marred
their happiest performance. It is the greatest glory of
our Washington, that almost a century after he had
founded the nation, there arose in the hour of its need
a man to stand Avhere he stood, and do the work he
would have done. This shows the perfection of the
work of Washington. It shows how well he chose
the foundation, how well he reared the solid wall of
that nation, which was to stand as the momiment of his
memory.

In like manner, let no one think to honor the name
of Lincoln by going from his grave with hearts full of
discouragement, feeling that with him we have lost
everything. Lincoln also, like a wise master builder,
made his work so strong that it will stand, though he

23

remains no longer to uphold it. Look at the Generals
whom he called about him, at Grant, Sherman, Sheri-
dan, Thomas and the rest of those brave leaders; is
there one of them who would seize the moment of the
nation's bewilderment of sorrow to grasp at unlawful
power? Is there one of them who would relax for a
moment his activity and his zeal, because the eye of
his great captain rested on him no longer. Rather would
they become if possible more true and more devoted.
The same may be said of the statesmen that formed his
cabinet. Though a veil of politic reserve wisely conceal-
ed from us the individual attitude of these toward the
government of which they formed a part, yet we know
that they were one with its great head. And of him
who is to take the place of Lincoln, those who know
him best, speak with most confidence of praise. Those
who know him best speak most slightly of the cloud
that for a moment rested on Ms fair renown. Presi-
dent Johnson has had just the education to fit him for
the work that now awaits him. He has been brought
into personal contact with the loyal South, and the dis-
loyal South. He has done on a small scale what he
must now do on a large — for Tennessee what he must
do for the country. And as he has left that State with
a loyal government chosen by loyal votes, so doubtless
will he leave the United States organized on a basis of
loyalty and liberty.

But why need we speak of individuals. This has
not been a war of any man or of any men. The reb-
els called it "Lincoln's War" ; how little did they un-
derstand the nature of the struggle. It was not even
a war of States or Sections. It was a war of princi-

24
pies, of epochs, of civilizations. One of the most pro-
found critics of the world has remarked that all the
great epics sing not a war of nations but of civiliza-
tions. Such is the grand epic which has been wrought
into our history.

"Is this 1865?" asked Booth, when on the after-
noon preceding his terrible act he was preparing to
date a letter, relating doubtless to the foul deed that he
was plotting. "Is this 1865?" — No! might have been
the answer of one who had the power to look into
his heart and see the deadly purpose that lay coiling
there. No : for you and for the cause you serve it is
not 1865, the heart of the 19th century. For you it
is whatever moment is blackest in the past. For you it
is the darkest hour in the 13th century. For you it is
the most cruel period of Rome's imperial power, when
the violence of sedition, and the sword and poison of the
assassin were the supreme rulers of the State. Nay, for
you and for the cause you serve, Christ has not come.
We must seek your place where the years, broadening
backwards, lead us down into unknown depths of bar-
barism and of brutal passion.

The gulf that separated the North and the South
was no State line. It was a gulf of centuries and of civ-
ilizations. I do not say this boastfully. It was the might of
these opposing principles that separated us. It was
not our act, but theirs. That absolute liberty for all
which is to be the life and the law of the future, which
has used us as its instrument, might say to us, as Christ
said to his disciples, "Ye have not chosen me, but I
have chosen you." We did not mean this when we
began. We said, "Accursed be he who shall lay his

25

hand upon the peculiar institutions of the South." —
This we said, as Balaam spoke, before he had ascended
the hill of prophecy, and had been filled and rapt
by the inspiring might of God. The South did not
mean to use the weapons of barbarism, torture and
starvation and assassination. They meant to give the
world an example of chivalrous warfare. But the
powers that each had served imperfectly before, seized
them and inspired them, and fought through them the
terrible strife.

I heard a little girl, surprised that the robin was
singing its old song, exclaim, "I thought that the birds
would sing sad, now that Abraham Lincoln is dead !"
But, no, the birds sing as of old. The spring flowers
will open their delicate buds as sweetly as if he were
here to welcome them. Nature is unchanged. Prin-
ciple is unchanged, Providence is unchanged.

Let us, then, not dishonor the memory of Lincoln
by cowardly thoughts of despair. We will leave our
, hearts in his grave. We will give our confidence,
though we cannot yet give the same love, to those that
come after him. Nay, we will gather here a fresh con-
fidence. We will strengthen our hearts by a fresh
purpose of devotion to his cause and ours. And,
though as we go away, our eyes are dim with tears,
these shall not blind us to the promise of the future. —
Rather shall its brightness, shining through our tears,
make them radiant with its glorv.