It is February 12, 1909, the one hundredth birthday of Abraham Lincoln.
It is a day of national celebration.
At 8:00 AM in New York City, cannon blasts from nearby military forts, battleships in the harbor and National Guard field batteries fired a birthday salute.
And civil rights leader Booker T. Washington delivered an address to the Republican Club at New York’s Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.
He told his audience that, as a young child born into slavery, he had often awakened to his mother’s prayer that Lincoln would succeed and one day set him free.
In Boston, ninety-year-old Julia Ward Howe, who in 1861 wrote the lyrics to “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” addressed a joint session of the Massachusetts state legislature, reciting a new poem written in Lincoln’s honor.
In Hodgenville, Kentucky, President Theodore Roosevelt laid the cornerstone of a memorial building which would shelter the log cabin of Lincoln’s birth.
Woodrow Wilson, then Princeton’s president and contemplating a presidential run in 1912, spoke at Chicago’s Auditorium Theatre.
He asked:
“Can we have other Lincolns?
We cannot do without them.
This country is going to have crisis after crisis.”
Spurred on by President Theodore Roosevelt, the US Mint was working on a new design for the penny which would bear Lincoln’s likeness.
The new Lincoln cent would be struck in August.
The tributes to Lincoln were many on this day.
But none were more moving than poet Percy MacKaye’s.
He wrote a lengthy ode to Lincoln in commemoration of his centenary.
Here is a small portion:
And such was he:
beyond the pale of song
His grandeur looms in truth, with awful grace;
He lives where beauty's origins belong
Deep in the primal raptures of his race.
Yet may we strive to trace
His shadow — where it pulses vast
Upon imagination, cast
By the oft-handtrimm'd lamp of history —
In carved breath, or bronze, that we may scan
The imagined child and man
Whose life and death are looms of our own destiny.
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I’ll see you tomorrow.
— Brenda
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