That prison is ourselves that we have built, And, being so, its loneliness is just, And, being so, its loneliness endures. But, if another came, What would we say? What can the blind say, given back their eyes?

No, it must be as it has always been. We are all prisoners in that degree And will remain so, but I think I know This⁠—God is not a jailor.⁠ ⁠… And I make A promise now to You and to myself. If this last battle is a victory And they can drive the Rebel army back From Maryland, back over the Potomac, My proclamation shall go out at last To set those other prisoners and slaves From this next year, then and forever free.

So much for my will. Show me what is Yours!

That must be news, those footsteps in the hall, Good news, or else they wouldn’t come so fast.