Democracy's Acropolis

The path which leads to world democracy
Is overgrown with weeds because untrod
Save by a few great souls, who reverently,
Upon their knees, sought out and found their God.
The path was marked, its pattern plainly seen
When Washington met God at Valley Forge.
Again it led to fruited valleys, green
With peace, when Lincoln bridged the yawning gorge--
Connected earth with Heaven's power and might.
He heard his Pilot's voice. The ship of State
Was anchored safely; God's revealing Light
Guides surely when the helmsman's course is straight.
O erring man, again bridge the abyss,
Then build democracy's Acropolis!

Lincoln

Like one lone pine against the blast, he stood
Fighting for oneness, one humanity;
Seeing the vision of a brotherhood
Where men as brothers know love's alchemy.
Against discordant patterns of his time
His giant soul rebelled. Through every squall
He steered the ship of State. The gyves of crime
Wounded and scarred his heart. He heard the call
Of brother-man within the chrysalis
Of ebony, and dared to strike the blow
That broke the slavery-chains, bridged the abyss
Of race, and birthed a nation-soul whose glow,
Enhanced by time, lends hope to other lands.
Majestic as the pine this giant stands.

Portrait of Lincoln's Second Mother

(Sarah Johnson Lincoln)

December Planting

Tall and strong she was, her gray-blue eyes
Held steadiness and kindness, firmness too.
Before Tom Lincoln's cabin in surprise
She noted how the wind could whistle through
The chinks between the logs, and saw no door
To close against December--just a hole
Wide gaping; moist foot-printed earth, the floor.                                
Why had she come? As panic touched her soul,
She turned and saw young Abe: A wordless pleading
Was in her face. His eyes, deep-set and gray,
Hungry for mothering sought hers. Love-heeding,
She sensed Divinity had marked her way.
Holding him close, there on the frozen sod,
She knew her task: to keep him close to God.

April Promise

Abe lay in silvered quietude, the moon
Of promise shining through the attic door;                                        
For love and willing work had wonder-strewn
His world. Light footsteps on the new pine floor
Below intoned the stillness. Reverent
He touched the softness of his feathered tick--
"Not corm husks, Ma", he whispered. "You should see                              
Our cabin now, all whitewashed, with a thick,                                    
Smooth door from our own pines ... But best of all                                
She loves us, Ma, and keeps us near to you.                                      
She says some day when I am strong and tall                                      
God has a work for me--Can this be true?"
Asleep when Sarah came and smoothed his head,
He dreamed of angels by his prayer-sweet bed.

Golden Harvest

Sarah was regal still, and Abe full grown
Stood towering above her. Awed, in pride,
She viewed the harvest from her seeds, love-sown:
A man of God! When Thomas Lincoln died
And Abe, his arms about her, gently said,
"Ma I'll take care of you," in his embrace
Again she felt his greatness; once more read                                      
The prophecy within his craggy face.
Fulfillment came: The Nation's President!
Her Abe! Once more as long ago--in tears--
His eyes sought hers and found, with wonderment,
The mother love that had enriched his years.
Through her had God prepared him? Need she ask?
Enough to know she had fulfilled her task.

Lincoln

He gave our nation of his giant strength.
When it was weak and could not stand alone,
He held its groping tottering form. At length
Triumphant, it emerged from war's dark zone,
Fulfilled the vision that this prophet saw
Upon his knees, his weary massive head
Bowed low. The ice of fearful hearts would thaw
Before the sunshine of his love. Though dead
He walks the earth to temper every hour,
For death but gave him every nation's lands
In which to dwell with tender, deathless power.
The work of this loved commoner withstands
Erosion of ill winds. He has his place
Within the universal heart's embrace.

The Improvement Era
First in MFCP Clinic Poems, Spring Retreat 1951