Lyman Whitney Allen, born at St. Louis, November 19, 1854. Bachelor of Arts, Washington University, St. Louis, 1878; later Master of Arts, Princeton Theological, 1878-80; Post-graduate studies at Princeton University; (D.D., University of Wooster, 1897). Ordained Presbyterian Minister, 1882; stated supply Kimmswick, Missouri, 1881-3; DeSoto, Missouri, 1883-5; Pastor-elect Carondelet Church, St. Louis, Missouri, 1885-9; Pastor South Park Church, Newark, New Jersey, since 1889. Director Board of Home Missions, Presbyterian; Chaplain New Jersey Society D. A. R.; Member Society American Authors; New Jersey Society S. A. R. Club, Princeton (New York). Has written many poems and articles, including the New York _Herald's_ $1,000 prize poem which was published in 1895. Rev. Dr. Lyman Whitney Allen of Newark, New Jersey, had for his guest Chief Justice Wendell Phillips Stafford of the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia. Judge Stafford addressed the Men's Club of Dr. Allen's church one evening, and next day, in company with his host, visited the Lincoln statue on the court-house plaza. On the train that bore him back to Washington that day, Judge Stafford wrote the poem on the Statue. (See page 236). A few weeks thereafter Dr. Allen visited his friend, the judge, in Washington, and they made a little pilgrimage to the New York Avenue Presbyterian church. In the Lincoln pew Dr. Allen sat and meditated, and on his way back he wrote the verses. "I had seen the Lincoln statue many times," says Dr. Allen, "but, somehow, I could not get started on the poem I knew could be written around it." And Judge Stafford wrote to his friend in Newark: "I had seen the Lincoln pew a score of times without poetic result, yet you come on a one-day visit and carry away the inspiration needed." LINCOLN'S CHURCH IN WASHINGTON Within the historic church both eye and soul Perceived it. 'Twas the pew where Lincoln sat-- The only Lincoln God hath given to men-- Olden among the modern seats of prayer, Dark like the 'sixties, place and past akin. All else has changed, but this remains the same, A sanctuary in a sanctuary. Where Lincoln prayed! What passion had his soul-- Mixt faith and anguish melting into prayer Upon the burning altar of God's fane, A nation's altar even as his own. Where Lincoln prayed! Such worshipers as he Make thin ranks down the ages. Wouldst thou know His spirit suppliant? Then must thou feel War's fiery baptism, taste hate's bitter cup, Spend similar sweat of blood vicarious, And sound the cry, "If it be possible!" From stricken heart in new Gethsemane.