Our Martyr-President

What mean these myriad aching hearts,
     And tears from myriad weeping eyes?
What means this sorrow o’er the land,
     Woe like a pall across the skies?
Dark treason’s hand has cut again
A prince uncrowned, the best of men!

What fiend is this whose vengeful heart
     Could lodge such hate to foul man’s name?
It can’t be man that did the deed,
     The devil ’twas that lit the flame
That fired his soul, in friendship’s guise,
To kill the brave, the good, the wise!

With Judas smile and treacherous hand,
     He crouched along that line of joy,
While love resplendent shone around
     His hand was missioned to destroy!
The missiles flew, and all the world
Was into bitter sorrow hurled!

O! blackest deed! joy of the land
     To scoundrel rage a sacrifice!
His country’s pride, by merit throned
     A victim to a tool of Vice!
To-day McKinley’s higher raised
By God, by men and angels praised!