The town is burning. Thick, black smoke, fat devouring flames and drunken cries and chants writhe upward to the sky. Terrified running of white men. And newly freed negroes with bright rags on their black bodies, with white teeth of beasts and steaming nostrils pour like waves into the streets, screaming and singing and bearing devastation with their broad, animal feet .
A black forest of heads, bent by a storm .
The forest grows and the storm grows. And his knees bend, whose fate it was to be the liberator .
The forest grows and the storm grows. And his back bends painfully in shame, his ears burn hotly. Had he wanted this? Is this not an evil mockery? God's punishment of vanity and thirst for might? He sees devastation and he sees even more. And with his large clumsy hand he wipes the cold sweat from his bony forehead .
The forest grows and the storm grows. And suddenly he is entrapped in a wall of black heads and deathly silence. And suddenly there rises a cry, sharp and terrified: Lincoln! and like a wind it spreads: Lincoln! And one calls with staring eyes: Jesus, Holy One! And a trembling voice cries: Messiah! And women lift their children high: Behold the Saviour! And someone calls out wildly: The Day of Judgment! And like a wave it passes over all the heads: The Day of Judgment! The Day of Judgment! The Day of Judgment!
And thousands fall trembling in awe on their knees half singing, half screaming and beating their heads against the stones of the road .
And he, at whose feet lie thousands, stands humble and small and feels that praise is much harder to bear than mockery, and that the adoration of men lowers lower than dust. And never had he longed so much for peace and rest and for a place where he could end his days with wife and children — far from men and free from all vanities .