On the Death of President Wm. McKinley

Snatched like a flash from this world of sin and woe—
Gone the way we all must go.
Standing thoughtless of all harm,
Happy, strong and well;
A murderer’s hand was raised
And lo! He fell.

Our president, leader, ruler of the land,
Was shot down by a murderer’s cruel hand.
He was kept from falling by his guards
And a number of the Royal Grand;
But a negro snatched the steaming gun from the villain’s hand,
A negro, courageous and brave, threw the gun aside,
Or a third ball would have pierced the president’s side.

He lived a short while,
And those who upon him did attend
Said he was patient until the end.
Wm. McKinley is no more,
His race on earth is run.
The last words that he uttered were:
“God’s will be done.”
Oh, what a warning his death should be to all,
Showing how sudden can be our fall.

A day or two before he died,
With face so radiant and bright,
He said to those around him:
“Sing ‘Lead Kindly Light.’”
Dear saint—he knew his sould [sic] would soon be free, [56][57]
And with the faintest smile he murmured:
“Nearer my God to Thee.”
Rank, wealth, power,
Aye! It matters not how grand—
We must bow some day
To the Master’s hand.
And may we, when the time does come,
Say, like William McKinley, “God’s will be done.”