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Of one who climbed his highest dreams, I sing, from conception to the nal point of life; of building a slight castle from rough logs and forging wits that made the future man; of leaving home to seek a leading life and his uncertain bearing toward young women; of one with heart and nerve enough to storm the walls of race with a plain olive branch until he was elected president, until the primal hate in Southern rights united rage and touched off civil war over the cornerstone of human freedom and the survival of the Constitution here and for humankind beyond our shores; of braving inner seas where questions tossed and constant mental hurricanes of doubt battered the hatches of his rolling mind, where mounds of amputated limbs and hills bestrewn with bodies like entangled laundry would not let his tired ruminations rest, not see the bloody hands he never wanted any more than to be the scrap of esh weighed down by a mad nation he became; of one who wandered through thick stands of words, made blades of his imagination sharp, let oracles of shadow rise within, lend silence and, led by the tragic muse, enshrined a brief, magnicent address; of consecrating such a balanced speech upon the Founding Fathers edice of thought, disintegration lost its edge till a dividing shot brought down the house. O, let the mimic muse and her epic sister advance his matchless consciousness through time by steeping me in the eternal war between the gods and demons deep within as it was fought in this compassionate man that I may recreate his growing soul as it wound its way through dark days of gloom toward understanding where spheres harmonies commence, at last, when living and dying cross.