Source: Indian Legendary Poems and Songs of Cheer
Source type: book
Document type: poem
Document title: “A Tribute to the Memory of Our Late President”
Author(s): Brown, William Edgar
Publisher: Every Where Publishing Co.
Place of publication: New York, New York
Year of publication: 1912
|Brown, William Edgar. “A Tribute to the Memory of Our Late President.” Indian Legendary Poems and Songs of Cheer. New York: Every Where Publishing, 1912: pp. 62-64.|
|McKinley assassination (poetry); William McKinley (death: poetry).|
|William Edgar Brown [in notes]; Judas.|
|“The following was composed by Rev. W. Edgar Brown, pastor of the Rockland M. E. church, and recited by him at the McKinley memorial services held here Thursday, Sept. 19” (p. 62).|
A Tribute to the Memory of Our Late President
The grand organ is pouring forth its strains of glorious melody,
Causing the magnificent Temple of Music to resound again and again.
The first man of the nation and of the world, has taken his place among the
Whom he loved so well.
His heart beats high with joy, his eye beams with a holy fire,
Lighting up that benign, and lovely countenance,
As he extends his hand in kindly greeting to all who pass that way,
To manifest that in his heart, no malice is, towards any of the sons of men.
Out from that gala throng, a cringing coward steals,
His bandaged hand conceals a deadly weapon; 
And he reaches, as Judas did, to greet the guileless one.
Two quick reports awake the echoes of the mighty dome.
Two trickling, crimson streamlets, tell the awful story;
’Tis the life’s blood, of our beloved President.
He calmly walks towards a seat, one moment,
He bows his head upon his hands, perhaps in prayer,
It is not much he said, “deal gently with the man, may God forgive him.”
No murmur e’er escaped his lips,
He counts his life’s blood less than the slightest pain to others.
A prince and hero has fallen in our land, this day;
A hero in his private life,
A hero in the dread turmoil of war;
A hero, and a glorious victor, in all his great ambitions,
Until, at last, his triumphant feet had reached the very topmost round,
Of fame’s immortal ladder; when the accursed bullet laid him low.
His was the clearest mind the centuries have known,
His was as brave a heart as ever throbbed within a human breast. 
His life and character as pure and stainless as the fragrant lily,
Which diffuses its sweet perfume upon the morning air.
“God’s will be done,” he said, “I shall find rest”;
As surrounded by a nation’s mighty men,
Whose hearts bled sore, because they could not die for him,
While the heart-broken nation held its breath without,
He took his sad farewell.