Abraham Lincoln Suicide Poem?

[RJNorton]

Joshua Speed told William Herndon in 1865 that Lincoln had written a poem about suicide that was published in the Sangamo Journal. Herndon searched for it, but he never found it.

Then, about 10-15 years ago, author Richard Lawrence Miller noticed an unsigned poem titled "The Suicide’s Soliloquy" in the August 25, 1838, edition of the Sangamo Journal. The paper explained that the note was found by the unidentified bones of an apparent suicide located near the Sangamon River.

Since then historians are divided - some think this is indeed the poem Speed told Herndon about. The poem is in Joshua Shenk's book about Lincoln and depression, and Shenk writes, "Without an original manuscript or a letter in which ownership is claimed, no unsigned piece can be attributed definitely to an author. But the context points strongly to Lincoln."

I am including the words here and wondering if any forum members have an opinion on Lincoln possibly being the author.

The Suicide's Soliloquy

Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o'er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.

No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens' cry.

Yes! I've resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I'll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!

Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?

To ease me of this power to think,
That through my bosom raves,
I'll headlong leap from hell's high brink,
And wallow in its waves.

Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.

Yes! I'm prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am damn'd on earth!

Sweet steel! come forth from out of your sheath,
And glist'ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!

I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the bloody dart,
My last-my only friend!