William McKinley

The silent air is musical with thought—
I hear the beating of the nation’s heart;
It cannot hush the aching tears of grief
Since one has passed into the perfect night.
The people bow their heads in the belief
He was a benefactor, faithful from the start.
O hero, martyr and the nation’s chief,
The fragrant breathing of the silver chimes
Is but the adieu;
We see no more the placid face
That stood to greet the benediction of a RACE.