William McKinley

AN EPITAPH.

His country lost him ’ere his work was done,
Nor Death has robbed her of a nobler son;
To vice severe, to erring virtue kind,
Of steadfast honor, and of open mind;
Whose vital wish became the seal of Fate
His people happy, and his country great.
Well might that nation wish his guidance near,
Upon the threshold of its vast career;
Well might Columbia seek, with sad dismay,
The hand that led her, and is dust to-day.
     His genius rose in no self-centred hour,
As fortune’s favorite, or the child of power,
But came to birth, a struggling thing of life
The glorious issue of opposing strife;
His just ambition, linked with modest [pride?]
By envy threatened, and by faction tried,
Burst through the storm, a beauteous ray of light,
Serenely pure, and eloquently bright;
As statecraft’s idol, he illumined its ken,
And won the judgments and the hearts of men.
     Sleep! Christian patriot, thy rest benign,
Affection’s praise eternally is thine
The aim of age, the guiding star of youth,
Lover of peace, and champion of truth,
Whose life’s perfection, and whose perfect fame,
Makes malice blush, and monarchs droop with shame,
Mankind for him its tenderest tears may [shed?],
Whose hopes were blameless as the course he led.