Lincoln, The Man Of The People

By A Divine Paradox, Wherever There Is One Slave There Are Two

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.

It Is Better To Rust Out Than Wear Out.

The Sequoias Belong To The Silences Of The Milleniums. Many Of Them Have Seen A Hundred Human Generations Rise, Give Off Their Little Clamors And Perish. They Seem Indeed To Be Forms Of Immortality Standing Here Amoing The Transitory Shapes Of Time.

Fight Ever On: This Earthly Stuff If Used God’s Way Will Be Enough. Face To The Firing Line O Friend Fight Out Life’s Battle To The End. One Soldier, When The Fight Was Red, Threw Down His Broken Sword And Fled. Another Snatched It, Won The Day, With What His Comrade Flung Away.