Booth died blind, and still by faith he trod, Eyes still dazzled by the ways of God. Booth led boldly and he looked the chief: [Sidenote: _Bass drums slower and softer_] Eagle countenance in sharp relief, Beard a-flying, air of high command Unabated in that holy land.
Jesus came from out the Court-House door, Stretched his hands above the passing poor. Booth saw not, but led his queer ones there [Sidenote: _Flutes_] Round and round the mighty Court-House square. Yet in an instant all that blear review Marched on spotless, clad in raiment new. The lame were straightened, withered limbs uncurled And blind eyes opened on a new sweet world.
Drabs and vixens in a flash made whole! [Sidenote: _Bass drums louder and faster_] Gone was the weasel-head, the snout, the jowl; Sages and sibyls now, and athletes clean, Rulers of empires, and of forests green!
The hosts were sandalled and their wings were fire— _Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?_ But their noise played havoc with the angel-choir. [Sidenote: _Grand chorus tambourines—all instruments in full blast_] _Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?_ Oh, shout Salvation! it was good to see Kings and princes by the Lamb set free. The banjos rattled and the tambourines blast Jing-jing-jingled in the hands of queens!
And when Booth halted by the curb for prayer He saw his Master through the flag-filled air. [Sidenote: _Reverently sung—no instruments_] Christ came gently with a robe and crown For Booth the soldier while the throng knelt down. He saw King Jesus—they were face to face, And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place. _Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?_
_John P. Altgeld: Dec. 30, 1847–March 12, 1902._
Sleep softly ... eagle forgotten ... under the stone. Time has its way with you there, and the clay has its own.
“We have buried him now,” thought your foes, and in secret rejoiced. They made a brave show of their mourning, their hatred unvoiced. They had snarled at you, barked at you, foamed at you day after day; Now you were ended. They praised you ... and laid you away.
The others that mourned you in silence and terror and truth, The widow bereft of her crust, and the boy without youth, The mocked and the scorned and the wounded, the lame and the poor, That should have remembered forever ... remember no more.