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Publication information
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Source: Newark Sunday Call
Source type: newspaper
Document type: poem
Document title: “M’Kinley’s Last Speech: ‘Concord, Not Conflict’”
Author(s): C., J. C.
City of publication: Newark, New Jersey
Date of publication: 29 September 1901
Volume number: 30
Issue number: 1537
Part/Section: 1
Pagination: 6

 
Citation
C., J. C. “M’Kinley’s Last Speech: ‘Concord, Not Conflict.’” Newark Sunday Call 29 Sept. 1901 v30n1537: part 1, p. 6.
 
Transcription
full text
 
Keywords
William McKinley (poetry); William McKinley (last public address: poetry).
 
Named persons
none.
 
Notes
The condition of the newspaper (an online scanned document) is poor in places, rendering selected letters/words difficult or impossible to read.

The poor print quality likewise makes it impossible to be certain whether the author’s initials are “J. C. C.” or “J. O. C.”
 
Document

 

M’Kinley’s Last Speech: “Concord, Not Conflict”

How [“]All the world do[t]h love a [l]over”
     In kinship of [t]he heart!
Throughout the ages still [must?] hover
     This truth for sorrow’s smart.

Fo[r] love h[e] battled ’neath the [f]lag;
     As angel to his wife,
The lo[ve] that kn[e]w not how to lag
     Gr[e]w ri[c]h[e]r still t[hr]o’ lif[e.]

Twi[c]e he refus[e]d the highest gift
     Wh[e]n honor whispe[r]ed [“]No[!]”
And twi[ce] the pe[o]pl[e]’s l[ov]e uplift
     So high th[a]t thr[one]s s[ee]m low[.]

In love he li[v]ed, in love h[e died;]
     And from th[a]t lo[v]e hath sprung
The n[o]blest [message] tru[e] and wide
     Of any m[o]rtal tongue:

“Who helps another helps himself,
     And so it is ‘[Love pays?];’
Thus not alone for sordid pelf
     Sh[o]uld nati[o]ns sp[e]nd their days.

“The pow[e]r that smites may smitten be
     Till naught but woe b[e] found.
The p[o]w[e]r that lo[v]es thro’ l[o]ve sh[a]ll see
     The truest weal[t]h abound.

“Oh, purblind nations, [‘C]onflict’ cease,
     In ‘[Conc]ord’ h[elp ea]ch oth[er.]
The Serm[o]n on th[e] M[ou]nt meant Peace,
     E[ac]h [nation] like a b[ro]ther.”

They’ve bowed the head, they’ve poured the t[e]ar—
     The n[a]ti[o]ns of the earth—
For love h[a]th [co]nquered [e]v’ry fear,
     To “Concord” given birth.

Eternal “Conflict” seemed to sway
     The pow[e]rs of the world;
The well-[belov’d], just [pa]ssed away,
     It’s battle flag hath [f]urled.

So, “All the world d[o]th love a lover,”
     For [e]v[e]ry n[a]ti[o]n w[eep]s.
See love its poten[c]y discover
     While our true lover sleeps.

     Sep[t]ember 19, 1[9]01.

 

 


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