which he endured in bearing on
himself all the calamities of his country." Truly it might be said of
him, in the words of Matthew Arnold:

With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day, and wish 't were done.
Not till the hours of light return
All we have built do we discern.

In the tragic experiences of Lincoln in these dark days, the outlook was
less gloomy than it had seemed to his tortured soul. He was even then,
as Mr. John Bigelow puts it, "making for himself a larger place in
history than he had any idea of." He "builded better than he knew"; and
the "hours of light" were soon to come when he would know what he had
built and see the signs that promised better things. The Presidential
election of 1864 demonstrated the abiding confidence of the people in
him and his administration. Every loyal State but three--New Jersey,
Delaware, and Kentucky--gave him its electoral vote; and his popular
majority over McClellan, the Democratic candidate, was upwards of
400,000. Lincoln was cheered but not exultant at the news. Late in the
evening of election day (November 8, 1864) he said, in response to
public congratulations: "I am thankful to God for this approval of the
people. But while deeply grateful for this mark of their confidence in
me, if I know my own heart my gratitude is free from any taint of
personal triumph. It is not in my nature to triumph over anyone; but I
give thanks to Almighty God for this evidence of the people's resolution
to stand by free government and the rights of humanity."

While the election returns were coming in, early in the evening, Lincoln
was at the War Department with a little group assembled to hear them
read. How different the scene from that in the quiet country town where
he had waited for the returns on a similar occasion four years before!
Then all was peace--the lull before the storm. Now the storm had broken,
and its greatest fury was raging about that patient and devoted man who
waited to hear the decision of the nation's supreme tribunal--the voice
of the people whose decree would settle the fate of himself and of the
country. Mr. Charles A. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War, who was in the
group, gives this description of the scene: "General Eckert was coming
in continually with telegrams containing election returns. Mr. Stanton
would read them, and the President would l