And lo, as he grew ugly, gaunt, And gnarled his way into a man, What wisdom came to feed his want, What worlds came near to let him scan! And as he fathomed through and through Our dark and sorry human scheme, He knew what Shakespeare never knew, What Dante never dared to dream— That Men are one Beneath the sun, And before God are equal souls— This truth was his, And this it is That round him such a glory rolls— For not alone he knew it as a truth, He made it of his blood, and of his brain— He crowned it on the day when piteous Booth Sent a whole land to weeping with world pain— When a black cloud blotted the sun And men stopped in the streets to sob, To think Old Abe was dead. Dead, and the day’s work still undone, Dead, and war’s ruining heart athrob, And earth with fields of carnage freshly spread— Millions died fighting, But in this man we mourned Those millions, and one other— And the States to-day uniting, North and South, East and West, Speak with a people’s mouth A rhapsody of rest To him our beloved best, Our big, gaunt, homely brother— Our huge Atlantic coast-storm in a shawl, Our cyclone in a smile—our President, Who knew and loved us all With love more eloquent Than his own words—with Love that in real deeds was spent.... Oh, to pour love through deeds— To be as Lincoln was!— That all the land might fill its daily needs Glorified by a human Cause! Then were America a vast World-Torch Flaming a faith across the dying Earth, Proclaiming from the Atlantic’s rocky porch, That a New World was struggling at the birth! O living God, O Thou who living art, And real, and near, draw, as at that babe’s birth, Into our souls and sanctify our Earth— Let down Thy strength that we endure Mighty and pure As mothers and fathers of our own Lincoln-child— Make us more wise, more true, more strong, more mild, That we may day by day Rear this wild blossom through its soft petals of clay; That hour by hour We may endow it with more human power Than is our own— That it may reach the goal Our Lincoln long has shown! O Child, flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone, Soul torn from out our Soul! May you be great, and pure, and beautiful— A Soul to search this world To be a father, brother, comrade, son, A toiler powerful; A man whose toil is done One with God’s Law above: Work wrought through Love! NIGHT NOTE A little moon was restless in Eternity And, shivering beneath the stars, Dropped in the hiding arms of the western hill. Night’s discord ceased: The visible universe moved in an endless rhythm: The wheel of the heavens turned to the pulse of a cricket in the grass. _Alice Corbin_