Lincoln's Statue

by John Clagett Proctor

They took it down and stored it in a heap— The thoughts of which should make us mortals weap And cover up our face with guilty shame, To think, at last, we have disgraced his name; This shaft, Which meant so much in sixty-eight That thousands helped it then to dedicate, Should be, a few years hence, without a guest, Removed to some obscure place to rest, Because, 'tis said, it did not fit the place— It stood, some said, too high upon its base, And, furthermore, the courthouse being new, The incongruity would never do, They did not hark back to the civil strife When even he surrendered up his life To put upon this earth a nation new— A nation for the people—and for you, He was not out of place in those dark days— Indeed, all people since have sung his praise— And so, I ask, what mind conceived the thought, To take from us this monument we bought? Where were you, men of Illinois, then, And where were your talented congressmen? Your Cullom would never have seen this done To your greatest man—to your fairest son.

But since it has been stored away at last— Regardless of all sentiment and past— May I suggest Fort Stevens as a site, Where Lincoln stood and saw the armies fight, And saw our boys win out with sword and gun And save from torch and loot our Washington. What other place, pray tell me, has such claim? What other place has such immortal fame? What other city helped this statue buy? What other place our rights would thus deny?