Source: A Galaxy of Southern Heroes and Other Poems
Source type: book
Document type: poem
Document title: “The Death of William McKinley”
Author(s): Dozier, Orion T.
Publisher: none given
Place of publication: Birmingham, Alabama
Year of publication: 1905
|Dozier, Orion T. “The Death of William McKinley.” A Galaxy of Southern Heroes and Other Poems. Birmingham: [n.p.], 1905: pp. 76-78.|
|William McKinley (death: poetry).|
From title page: A Galaxy of Southern Heroes and Other Poems: A Compilation of Many Hitherto Unpublished Effusions of the Author, and a Number of Others Which Have Appeared in Sundry Periodicals but Largely a Reprint of Those Appearing in the First And Second Editions of “Foibles of Fancy and Rhymes of the Times,” Issued by the Writer in the Year 1894.
From title page: By Orion T. Dozier, M. D.
The Death of William McKinley
Dead, dead! The spirit now has fled.
Cold on its bier the pulseless clay
Unconscious lies in dreamless rest,
To wake no more till that great day,
When God shall bid all sleepers rise,
To stand before His mighty throne,
There face to face in judgment seat,
To know their God as they are known.
Till then, kind husband, rest in sleep,
From thy fair brow death’s chilling dew
Is warmed away by farewell kiss
Of constant wife so loving true.
Closed be those eyes, forever closed,
Who’s [sic] light was wont but to portray
The genial heart and friendly soul
Of him who sleeps, alas, for aye.
But whilst untimely thou must sleep,
Cast down by vile assassin’s hand,
Thy name around the world shall sweep—
Thy praise be sung in every land,
Thy glorious deeds examples be,
For all who yet on earth may dwell,
Thy brilliant fame still brighter grow,
Till time with earth shall bid farewell. 
Yes, sleep on, veteran, take thy rest;
No war alarms thy sleep shall break,
Thy faithful sword in honors decked,
Thy glory and thy fame bespeak,
No spoils of war nor trophies rich
From conquered foe was ever wrung,
More grand than that, which thou hast gained—
Just praise from every Southern tongue.
Sleep, glorious ruler, gently sleep,
Thy last great pageant ends in gloom,
Half-masted droops a million flags,
Whilst thou art borne to waiting tomb;
Throughout the world all nations mourn
And yield their plenteous tears in vain,
In grief sincere, well may they weep,
They ne’er will see thy like again.
’Till Judgment Day, great spirit sleep
In death’s profound, unbroken rest,
Thy native earth thy dust shall keep,
Thy name survive, by country blest,
Whilst onward rolling years go by
Thy lustrous fame with time increase,
The grandeur of thy work remain,
Till time on earth itself shall cease. 
Then mighty soul from grave arise,
Come forth unawed to meet thy God,
Thy duty done, thy people’s prayers
Shall pave the way for thy reward—
A place on high with ceaseless joys,
Eternal with unchanging love—
With all that’s pure and best of earth
Be thine a home with God above.