I

When Lincoln was a little boy,
In Springfield,
Illinois,
The land was torn with slavery and dissension.
Fort Sumter had not fallen to the foe.
No one would dare discuss the fourth dimension.
“Uncle Tom's Cabin” came to Mrs. Stowe.
Commodore Perry started for Japan.
The Whigs now dubbed themselves “Republican.”
Stephen A. Douglas, called “The Little Giant.”
Brought fire and civil war to bleeding Kansas.
John Brown and his three sons became defiant.
Whittier dreamed and wrote his deathless stanzas.
But though the heart of truth was beating there,
Transfusing all the air,
There was no beauty, fantasy or joy,
In Springfield,
Illinois.

II

And now to-day,
When Science holds its mighty sway,
On Springfield corners and in Springfield streets,
Where'er the village passion beats,
In lowly chapels or electric signs,
The new gods have their shrines.
John L. Sullivan and old Walt Whitman,
Mark Twain, Roosevelt, Waldo Emerson,
Pocahontas and Booth and Bryan,
Einstein, with prophecies of space and Zion—
Their names are spelled in characters of light,
Their names are legends;
Their names are glory;
Their names are blazoned on the sky at night.
Their spirits strengthen every blade of grass,
The lost souls rise and cheer them when they pass.
Star-hearted Lucifer takes off his hat,
Saints so holy are prostrated flat.
Daniel and his lions do a ragtime dance;
Jazz-jumping angels have to shout and prance.
Adam and Eve learn the snake-dance there;
Old Elisha does the toddle with the bear.
All creation is a-swaying to and fro—
Andrew Jackson comes with Old Black Joe,
Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. …
While the tune of the spheres is a cosmic Kallyope.
Bringing hope, bringing hope, bringing hope, bringing hope,
Singing joy, singing joy, singing joy.
To every heart that still may grope
In Springfield,
Illinois.