DEATH OF D'ARCY McGEE

He stood up in the house to speak,

With calm unruffled brow,

And never were his burning words

More eloquent than now

Fresh from the greatest victory

That mortal man can win

The triumph against fearful odds.

Over besetting sin

‘ Twas this gave to his eloquence

That thrilling trumpet tone

Moving all hearts with those bright thoughts

Vibrating through his own

Thoughts strong, and wise, and statesmanlike,

Warm with the love of Right

That gave his wit its keenest edge,

His words their greatest might

He little thought his last speech closed,

That his career was o'er,

That those who hung upon his words

Should hear his voice no more.

He walked home tranquilly and slow,

Secure, and unaware,

That there was murder in the hush

Of the still midnight air.

“Tis morning,” said he, knowing not

That he had done with time;

That a bloody hand would our country stain

With another useless crime.

He stood before a portal closed

To him for evermore,

Behind him with uncreaking hinge

Oped the eternal door.

And ere the east grew red again,

His life blood's purple flow

Had made that pavement holy ground,

And filled the land with woe.

My country! Oh my country!

What is to thee the gain?

Wilt nourish trees of liberty

In blood so foully slain?