AN AMERICAN AT LINCOLN, a poem

THE vast cathedral-crown of the high hill,
     The long, low-vaulted nave, the transepts where
     The light is glory shed through windows rare
In rainbow tintings: glory deep and still,
     Gift of a past forever present there!

Beyond the lantern, the carved Gothic Choir,
     And, as interpreting the hallowed place
     Athrob with harmonies, a boyish face—
English, yet with the look of awed desire
     Which speaks America,—the younger race.

In the half-parted lips without a smile,
     In the whole rapt, impassioned gaze,
     I read the travail of the distant days,
The wistful hunger of the Long Exile—
     The yearning that survives through all delays

I read thy soul, my Country! thou dear Land
     Across the deep and all-dividing sea!
     I read thy soul and theirs who founded thee
With sacrifices few could understand—
     Renouncing and enduring silently.

And I perceived that thou hast still retained
     Their strength to toil, their courage to resist:
     That seeking ardently whate'er they missed,
Thou hast remained—in spite of all, remained—
     That which they made thee—an idealist!

And once again I felt how blest it is
     To hunger and to thirst: anew I saw
     That by eternal high-appointed law,
Sublimity and beauty most are his
     In whom they move the deepest thrill of awe!

"An American at Lincoln" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Book News Monthly (November? 1907), Lyrics of Life (1909) and Poems (1916) Volume I.