April 14, 2025

On April 14, 1865, President Abraham Lincoln was shot. He died the next day.  The violence toward him was directly related to his moral choice to free people from slavery.  

Lincoln died at the hands of John Wilkes Booth, a staunch supporter of slavery and of the cause of the South in the Civil War.  On the night of the assassination, Booth – who had injured himself in a fall from the box where he shot Lincoln – received medical treatment from Dr. Samuel Mudd.  

There has been a historical controversy as to whether or not Mudd was a co-conspirator or an innocent player in the assassination.  Nevertheless, he has become known in history for the role he played in the death of one of the greatest American presidents.  

Perhaps you have heard or used this expression toward someone who is an enemy or a loser, with the words derived from this doctor’s participation: “His name is mud.”  

All three of these men made choices and their choices have brought them a certain place in history.  Only Lincoln’s choice, which he paid for with his life, was made for the sake of freedom and justice for others. His name and memory will always be perpetually honored for that choice.

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Poetry: O Captain! My Captain! – Walt Whitman

“O Captain! My Captain!” is an extended metaphor poem written by Walt Whitman in 1865 about the death of U.S. President Abraham Lincoln.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

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Music: Funeral March, Op. 62 No. 3 – Felix Mendelssohn