The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 20, 1901, Page 9

L) Bt b et ssi43004444444404044444 - 3 - Pe + - * " € L 09¢¢¢A¢Q0»0¢09"04MH¢¢¢4—M " Paoes 010 10 @ ++44444440 OH+++ 44440 g s (0} [0 B¥e = o2 RE> —. o o (<2 N SAN FRANCISCO, FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1901. E Dttt 44444 @ 3 MILLION flags are waving low, H Harps on the willows hung, From steeple towers where’er we go The tolling bell is rung. . As David mourned for Abner slain Guiltless, we mourn to-day, The dark assassin came again Our noble dead to slay. L Columbia bows her head and weeps, Tears from a nation fall, BicKinley calmly, soundly sleeps, Unconscious of it all. A With ebbing strength he sang our hymn, ““Nearer, My God, to Thee.” He trusted through the shadows dim, Then went with God to be. V. Example bright his people left, Bidding us trust alway. He told in death, a world bereft, “Good-by, it is God’s way.”’ Vi Oh, may we all depart like thee, Saying ‘‘God’s will be done,”’ Thy dying words our last ones be When earthly tasks are done. VIL , We thought thee noble in thy lIife, Bearing a nation’s care, But nobler in the mortal strife, A Christian hero there. ViIL A wife rejoiced with thee to live, Eut Death has bade thee part; Our tenderest sympathy we give, God bless that widowed heart, IX. America has been bereaved, Mourning thine absence here; Thro’ all its length our hearts are grieved, A nation holds thy bier. hs Thy sepulcher Is everywhere, Draped are our citles gay; Thy grave must little Canton share With all our land to-day, XI. Thy charnel house our quarries rent, Thunder thy muffled drumg Our mountains are thy monument, Our gardens wreathe thy tomb. XIL Our forests flash thy funeral pyre, Willows all weep for thee, Our winds the great Eolian lyre That breathes thy lullaby. X1t Our honored chief, thro’ peace and war, Sudden has cofne thy fate; Our noble States thy mourners are From BMlaine to Golden Gate, XIv. Two oceans chant on either shore Mournful duet for thee. Their ceaseless song forevermore Thy- requiem shall be. XV. From many lands kind message comes, Sympathy warm is sent, And sad for thee a million homes, ‘Our martyred President. XV Our country’s chieftain sweetly rests, Waiting the morning chime, Thy mausoleum in our breast Defies the tooth of time. XVIL Some day a voice shall wake the dead, Sleepers in Christ shall rise Immortal from their grassy bed To meet him in the skies. XVIiL. Some day in peace and righteousness Christ sh.all return to reign, Anci theri through his redeeming grace We’ll meet thevgood again. MANIE PAYNE FERGUSON. Peniel Hall, Los Angeles, Sept. 17, 1901, Copyrighted by Manie Payne Ferguson, 190L