The Dead Leader
After the waiting and the anguished weeping
He lies at rest at last.
How should we mourn him tranced in peaceful sleeping,
His pain all past!
The Right's Excalibur his strong arm wielded
A little space lies low;
The victor in life's sometime strife has yielded
To man's last Foe.
Late — all too late — our loyal tribute giving
A loyal, fearless soul!
He whom we honored late — so late — while living,
Lies dead beside the goal.
Yet this the solace of these long sad hours
While we who loved him weep,
We breathe an answering message in our flowers
To him who lies asleep.
To him whom soon the deep, cold earth must cover,
To him whose dying breath
Left to our hearts a message bridging over
The dark abyss of Death.