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.
Who saw him there are gone, as he is gone;
The pew remains, with what God gave him there,
And all the world through him. So let it be--
One of the people's shrines.
[Illustration: LINCOLN IN 1858
From a photograph in possession of Mr. Stuart Brown of
Springfield, Illinois]
John James Piatt was born in Indiana, March 1, 1835. His earliest
schooling was received at Rising Sun, in Indiana. At the age of
fourteen he was set to learn the printing business in the office of
the _Ohio State Journal_ at Columbus, Ohio, for a brief period, and at
the age of eighteen years first began to write verses. His poems were
chiefly on themes connected with his native West.