William McKinley

     

                                 I

Weeping skies that would seem to deplore him
     Cast shadows on stars and on suns;
Drooped flags that are shivering o’er him
     To a far-rolling thunder of guns!
And great bells that rock the starred steeples
     And moan to the heavens above,
But dearer than all things—a people’s
     Devotion and love!

                                II

O Northland and Southland far-sighing
     Your grief, in this hour unblest,
He died for his country, and dying
     Was folded in Love to her breast.
In the storm of the battle he towered
     A beacon—a strength to the brave,
And Freedom, low-kneeling, has showered
     Her tears on his grave.