His head is bowed. He thinks of men and kings.
He is among us — as in times before!
And we who toss and lie awake for long,
Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.
The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.
Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep?
Too many peasants fight, they know not why;
Too many homesteads in black terror weep.
from Lincoln Walks at Midnight (In Springfield, Illinois) by Vachel Lindsay
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