Lincoln, The Man Of The People

Only The Soul That Knows The Mighty Grief Can Know The Mighty Rapture. Sorrows Come To Stretch Out Spaces In The Heart For Joy.

Bowed By The Weight Of Centuries He Leans Upon His Hoe And Gazes On The Ground, The Emptiness Of Ages In His Face, And On His Back The Burden Of The World.

There Is A Destiny Which Makes Us Brothers; None Goes His Way Alone. All That We Send Into The Lives Of Others Comes Back Into Our Own.

At The Heart Of The Cyclone Tearing The Sky And Flinging The Cloud And The Towers By, Is A Place Of Central Calm: So Here In The Roar Of Mortal Things, I Have A Place Where My Spirit Sings, In The Hollow Of God's Palm.

For All Your Days Be Prepared, And Meet Them Ever Alike. When You Are The Anvil, Bear - When You Are The Hammer, Strike.