McKinley

The first man of the Nation—
And the last
That Anarchy should strike
With its red hand,
As foe to Liberty
And man’s equality with man.
He, of the people,
Stood with them,
His hand outstretched
To grasp the hand of any man
And call him friend;
His heart was big,
And in his face
The light of kindliness
Gleamed bright
To lead to him all men
Who loved the higher things
Of government and law.
The Nation’s Head,
He was, still more, its heart,
And they, who praised the Chief,
Loved more the man.
His life was blameless
And his hands were clean,
A pattern to the high and low.
He loved his country,
Loving those who made it good
And glorious.
The blow, that fell on him,
Fell on the Nation’s
Peace and happiness;
It struck at him,
But had a wider mark,
The Nation’s being,
And for that
Must Anarchy be held
Blood-guilty,
And be doomed.