Czolgosz

HE murdered! Hasten! Let the Nation kill!
A godly State, we wield the chastening rod.
Dumb in the chair he waits—Oh hush, be still!
Once more a priest insults our patient God!

With fire of Heaven he withers like a leaf—
This hideous offering to our social Joss!
But, as of old, beside the punished thief,
Unseen, Christ hangs upon a neighboring cross!

This futile Brutus struck at Cæsar’s life;
He killed a husband and the People’s friend.
Oh, Cæsar hath not flesh to feel the knife!
Still Cæsar lives—and this is not the end!

Hark to the human groans from mire and muck!
Oh, still the streams of sunless millions flow!
He missed the tyrant’s heart at which he struck,
Nor do we kill the Thing that struck the blow!

The pistol ball wounds not the vaporous mark!
Nor can the dagger pick our prison lock!
Strike Night!—you stab some brother in the dark!
And Henry Fourth survives poor Ravaillac!