February Twelfth

What means to-day’s red letter,
    Distinct from common days?
Marks it some era, better,
    Demanding love and praise?
Or some event, blood-reeking,
    That leaves a crimson stain,
An Abel’s murder speaking
    The fatal crime of Cain?

Ah, yes! Our nation’s martyr
    Made this a day apart,
Rewriting Freedom’s charter
    With life blood of his heart.
Corruption’s iundation
    Had made the record dim,
But, under God, salvation
    Was borne to us through him.

One night a dastard, creeping,
    From treason’s council hall,
Secure in Satan’s keeping,
    Shot forth his treacherous ball.
It smote our glorious leader,
    Great ransomer of men,
From whom the mad seceder
    Shrunk, shuddering, to his den.

The wailing of a nation,
    Rose mournful to the sky,
And white-lipped execration
    Called vengeance from on high.
The heavens, that heard our wailing,
    Heard not the vengeful ban,
But taught a love unfailing
    To crown our foremost man.

Though tender hearts were saddened,
    And tears bedewed his tomb,
Though fiery souls were maddened
    At fate’s malignant doom,
To see this day, red-lettered,
    This fate might envy claim,
While millions rise unfettered
    To bless our Lincoln’s name.