Abraham Lincoln walks at midnight | Roy Harris
Text: Vachel Lindsay (1879 – 1931)
It is portentous, and a thing of state
That here at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
Near the old court-house, pacing up and down.
Or by his homestead, or by shadowed yards
He lingers where his children used to play,
Or through the market, on the well-worn stones
He stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.
A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,
A famous high top-hat, and plain worn shawl
Make him the quaint, great figure that men love,
The prairie-lawyer, master of us all.
He cannot sleep upon his hillside now.
He is among us:–as in times before!
And we who toss or lie awake for long
Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.
His head is bowed. He thinks on men and kings.
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.
The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.
He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main.
He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now
The bitterness, the folly and the pain.
He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn
Shall come:–the shining hope of Europe free:
The league of sober folk, the Workers’ Earth,
Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp and Sea.
It breaks his heart that kings must murder still,
That all his hours of travail here for men
Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace
That he may sleep upon his hill again?
Selections from Old American Songs, Set II | Aaron Copland
“Zion’s Walls”
Text: anonymous
Come fathers and mothers,
Come sisters and brothers,
Come join us in singing the praises of Zion.
O fathers, don’t you feel determined
To meet within the walls of Zion?
We’ll shout and go round
The walls of Zion.
“At the river”
Text: Robert Lowry (1826 – 1899), “At the river”, written 1865
Shall we gather by the river,
Where bright angel’s feet have trod,
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?
Yes, we’ll gather by the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river,
Gather with the saints by the river
That flows by the throne of God.
…
Soon we’ll reach the shining river,
Soon our pilgrimage will cease,
Soon our happy hearts will quiver
With the melody of peace.
Yes, we’ll gather by the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river,
Gather with the saints by the river
That flows by the throne of God.