DEATH HAS CROWNED HIM A MARTYR
(Written on the day of President McKinley’s death)
In the midst of sunny waters, lo! the mighty
Ship of State
Staggers, bruised and torn and wounded by a derelict of fate,
One that drifted from its moorings in the anchorage of hate.
On the deck our noble Pilot, in the glory of
his prime,
Lies in woe-impelling silence, dead before his hour or time,
Victim of a mind self-centred in a Godless fool of crime.
One of earth’s dissension-breeders, one
of Hate’s unreasoning tools,
In the annals of the ages, when the world’s hot anger
cools,
He who sought for Crime’s distinction shall be known as
Chief of Fools.
In the annals of the ages, he who had no thought of
fame
(Keeping on the path of duty, caring not for praise or blame),
Close beside the deathless Lincoln, writ in light, will shine his
name.
Youth proclaimed him as a hero; time, a
statesman; love, a man;
Death has crowned him as a martyr,—so from goal to goal he
ran,
Knowing all the sum of glory that a human life may span.
He was chosen by the people; not an accident of
birth
Made him ruler of a nation, but his own intrinsic worth.
Fools may govern over kingdoms—not republics of the
earth.
He has raised the lovers’ standard by his
loyalty and faith,
He has shown how virile manhood may keep free from
scandal’s breath.
He has gazed, with trust unshaken, in the awful eyes of
Death.
In the mighty march of progress he has sought to do his
best.
Let his enemies be silent, as we lay him down to rest,
And may God assuage the anguish of one suffering woman’s
breast.