<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnigit<br xmlns:exist="http://exist.sourceforge.net/NS/exist" xmlns:html="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40"/><span class="smallcaps">(In Springfield, Illinois)</span></h1><p class="byline"> VACHEL LINDSAY </p><p>From Vachel Lindsay's book entitled "The Congo and Other Poems," published and copyright, 1914, by The Macmillan Company, New York. Special permission to insert in this book.</p><div class="stanza"><p class="line">IT is portentous, and a thing of state,</p><p class="line">That here at midnight, in our little town </p><p class="line">A mourning figure walks, and will not rest, </p><p class="line">Near the old court house pacing up and down.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards </p><p class="line">He lingers where his children used to play, </p><p class="line">Or through the market, on the well-worn stones </p><p class="line">He stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black, </p><p class="line">A famous high-top hat and plain worn shawl </p><p class="line">Make him the quaint great figure that men love, </p><p class="line">The prairie lawyer, master of us all.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">He cannot sleep upon his hillside now. </p><p class="line">He is among us;-as in times before! </p><p class="line">And we who toss and lie awake for long </p><p class="line">Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door. </p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">His head is bowed. He thinks on men and kings. </p><p class="line">Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep? </p><p class="line">Too many peasants fight, they know not why, </p><p class="line">Too many homesteads in black terror weep. </p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The sins of all the warlords burn his heart. </p><p class="line">He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main. </p><p class="line">He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now </p><p class="line">The bitterness, the folly and the pain</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn</p><p class="line">Shall come;--the shining hope of Europe free;</p><p class="line">The League of sober folk, the Workers' Earth</p><p class="line">Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp and Sea.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">It breaks his heart that kings must murder still, </p><p class="line">That all his hours of travail here for men </p><p class="line">Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace</p><p class="line">That he may sleep upon his hill again? </p></div></body></html> · Great War