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"Hello, I'm William McKinley."
partial cover image from "American Boys' Life of William McKinley"                                              
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Publication information
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Source: Boston Evening Transcript
Source type: newspaper
Document type: poem
Document title: “William McKinley”
Author(s): Clarklin, Benton
City of publication: Boston, Massachusetts
Date of publication: 14 September 1901
Volume number: 72
Issue number: none
Part/Section: 1
Pagination: 10

 
Citation
Clarklin, Benton. “William McKinley.” Boston Evening Transcript 14 Sept. 1901 v72: part 1, p. 10.
 
Transcription
full text
 
Keywords
William McKinley (death: poetry); William McKinley (mourning: poetry).
 
Named persons
none.
 
Notes
The condition of the newspaper (an online scanned document) is poor in places, rendering punctuation difficult or impossible to read. A best guess is given below as to what the punctuation is intended to be.
 
Document

 

William McKinley

 

Died Sept. 14th, 1901.

On the hushed d[e]pths of midnight harshly breaking,
     What brazen voices tell their tale of grief?
“O sl[e]ep[e]rs! one has sl[e]pt to know no waking—
                    The nation’s chief!”

Cease, idle be[l]ls, your discord and your lying!
     H[e]aven has yet greater work for him to do!
Vainly we strive to still our hearts, replying,
                    “It is too true!”

That ga[ll]ant soul, that m[i]nd of mast[e]r showing,
     That ringing voice which swayed the breat[h]less floor,
That kindly smile, have passed beyond our knowi[n]g
                    Forevermore.

O Power Inscrutable! was there no sparing
     This life so precious throughout all the [l]and?
No strength of prayer, no skill of l[e]ech repairing,
                    To stay thy hand?

How great our need; how few such clear-eyed lead[e]rs
     Thou knowest! and their want, for good or ill
Whose arbiters stern-visaged War decr[eed] us,
                    Is greater st[il]l.

But if it be true that the great Departed
     St[il]l guide in paths w[h]ere once their feet were set,
He, w[h]o served Country life-long and who[l]e-hearted,
                    Is with us yet.

The gray dawn pa[le]s. The muf[fle]d gun[s] are waki[n]g.
     A nation’s sorrow thunders o’[e]r th[e] dee[p]s;
And in a W[es]tern town, with sobs heartbreaking,
                    A small child w[eep]s.

 

 


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