The Sorrow of the Nations. 385
THE SORROW OF THE NATIONS.
IN MEMORIAM WM. MCKINLEY.
BY JOHN P. SMITH, SHARPSBURG, MARYLAND.
[Corresponding Member of the Maryland
Historical Society and of the Ohio State
Archaeological and Historical Society.]
There's darkness over every land -
Man takes his fellow by the hand,
The hearts of men now almost fail;
For all the earth is one sad wail.
There's sorrow in the hut and hall,
Our land's enshrouded with a pall;
The bells of death do sadly toll
The grief that overwhelms the soul.
Loved Britain's king of grace and worth,
The millions high or low in birth,
The proudest thrones of royal power,
Are one with us in sorrow's hour.
'Tis not that bloody-handed war -
Nor pestilence has swept our shore;
Our nation's head has fallen now,
Oh, God! to Thee in grief we bow.
O cruel, vile, accursed blow-
That laid our loved McKinley low;
The world's great soul is bowed with
grief,
O Father! is there no relief?
Despite the earnest prayers and tears,
Despite the hopeful signs and fears;
The protest o'er our hero's fall,
Death cometh to him after all.
The kneeling millions wonder why
A righteous God should let him die;
Unceasing prayers for him ascend,
Our President, the nation's friend.
Vol. X- 25