Faithful unto Death

By R. H. Titherington

William McKinley died September 14, 1901.

HIS work is done, his toil is o’er;

A martyr for our land he fell—

The land he loved, that loved him well;

Honor his name forevermore!

Let all the world its tribute pay,

For glorious shall be his renown;

Though duty’s was his only crown,

Yet duty’s path is glory’s way.

For he was great without pretense;

A man of whom none whispered shame,

A man who knew nor guile nor blame;

Good in his every influence.

On battle field, in council hall,

Long years with sterling service rife

He gave us, and at last his life—

Still unafraid at duty’s call.

Let the last solemn pageant move,

The nation’s grief to consecrate

To him struck down by maniac hate

Amid a mighty nation’s love;

And though the thought its solace gives,

Beside the martyr’s grave to-day

We feel ’tis almost hard to say:

“God reigns and the republic lives!”