McKINLEY LAID AT REST.
The mortal remains of President McKinley are at rest. For six days and
through hundreds of miles a sorrowing nation has followed his bier. Now
the last look has been taken, the last farewells have been said. The
last salute to a dead President has echoed above his head.
His body was laid for the moment in the little cemetery of Canton,
guarded by soldiers of the flag he loved so well, until it shall be
placed beside the mother and other dear ones who departed before him.
There the people who loved and honored him will raise a monument to his
name and make of his grave a shrine.
But his highest monument must ever remain in the hearts of his
countrymen. A mourning people raises its head from the dust and goes
forward encouraged and guided by the life he lived.
Gray and somber dawned the morning of the entombment. There was a chill
in the air indicating that nature was in full harmony with the
multitudes who were here to see. It was just twenty years to the day
since the death of James A. Garfield, the second martyred President, and
many remembered that fact and were still further depressed.
Before the sun had been able to pierce its way through the clouds,
infantry, cavalry and artillery were moving in the direction of the
McKinley home. Long before 9 o’clock five thousand members of the Ohio
National Guard were in position, some assisting in guarding the streets,
others ready to take part in the funeral procession. Regulars were there
in great numbers. Sailors and marines were out. Civic bodies were
formed.
Entrance to the church was by card. Although the public knew this, all
hoped against hope that by some chance they could force their way into
the edifice. Hours before the doors were opened long lines were formed
by the holders of cards, and back of them were thousands who were
willing to stand in the chill air on a single chance that enough room
might be spared for them to squeeze in.
The same eight stalwart soldiers and marines who had carried the coffin
when it had been previously moved, shouldered it and bore it down the
steps, down the path through the yard, with its beautiful lawn and
flowerbeds gay with the blossoms of the late summer, out to the waiting
hearse. The casket was draped in the flag that William McKinley had
fought to maintain as that of an undivided country. About the coffin
flowers were massed in such quantities as to fill the hearse.
A signal was given and the forward move began. Thayer’s military band
led the way behind the police guard. As the hearse moved the familiar
strains of “Nearer, My God, to Thee” were sounded. The music was soft
and sweet, barely loud enough to be heard a block away.
The strains of “Lead, Kindly Light” announced the approach to the
church, and a hush fell upon the struggling throng. The cavalry escort
slowly swung into Tuscarawas street at the head of the funeral line,
with the bugles silent and all orders given by signs. The cavalrymen
formed three sides of a hollow square opposite the church doors, brought
their swords to the position of “present arms” and sat like statues.
The great organ inside the church was waked by the first faint ripple of
music from the street, which quivered through the black-draped doors,
and commenced to breathe softly through the auditorium the solemn notes
of Beethoven’s funeral march.
Four girls rose and joined their voices to the beautiful melody of the
beautiful song, “Beautiful Isle of Somewhere.” It was like an answer to
complaining hearts as it ran:
Somewhere the sun is shining;
Somewhere the song birds dwell;
Hush, then, thy sad repining;
God lives and all is well.
Somewhere, somewhere,
Beautiful Isle of Somewhere;
Land of the true, where we live anew;
Beautiful Isle of Somewhere.
Somewhere the load is lifted,
Close by an open gate;
Somewhere the clouds are rifted;
Somewhere the angels wait.
Somewhere, somewhere,
Beautiful Isle of Somewhere,
Land of the true, where we live anew;
Beautiful Isle of Somewhere.
Rev. O. B. Milligan, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, led in
prayer. In these words he asked for Divine light on a way out of the
shadow cast upon the nation, and especially for heavenly assistance for
Mrs. McKinley in her great sorrow.
Everybody in the church joined in the Lord’s prayer, Rev. Dr. John A.
Hall, pastor of Trinity Lutheran Church, then read from the scriptures
the Nineteenth Psalm, to which President McKinley was accustomed to turn
for comfort when his heart was heavy. Rev. E. P. Herbruck, pastor of
Trinity Reformed Church, also read from the scriptures, selecting the
fifteenth chapter of the first epistle to the Corinthians, verses 41 to
58.
The quartet again arose and sang Cardinal Newman’s grand hymn, “Lead,
Kindly Light,” the beautiful words floating through all the church.
Rev. Dr. C. E. Manchester, pastor of the First Methodist Episcopal
Church of Canton, then delivered the funeral sermon.
“Our President is dead. The silver cord is loosed, the golden bowl is
broken, the pitcher is broken at the fountain, the wheel broken at the
cistern, the mourners go about the streets.
“One voice is heard, a wail of sorrow from all the land, for the beauty
of Israel is slain upon the high places. How are the mighty fallen! I am
distressed for thee, my brother. Very pleasant hast thou been unto me.
Our President is dead.
“We can hardly believe it. We had hoped and prayed and it seemed that
our hopes were to be realized and our prayers answered when the emotion
of joy was changed to one of grave apprehension. Still we waited, for we
said, ‘It may be that God will be gracious and merciful unto us.’ It
seemed to us that it must be His will to spare the life of one so well
beloved and so much needed.
“Thus, alternating between hope and fear, the weary hours passed on.
Then came the tidings of defeated sciences, of the failure of love and
prayer to hold its object to the earth. We seemed to hear the faintly
muttered words: ‘Good-by all, good-by. It’s God’s way. His will be
done,’ and then, ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee.’
“So, nestling nearer to his God, he passed out into unconsciousness,
skirted the dark shores of the sea of death for a time and then passed
on to be at rest. His great heart had ceased to beat. Our hearts are
heavy with sorrow.
“A voice is heard on earth of kinsfolk weeping
The loss of one they love;
But he has gone where the redeemed are keeping
A festival above.
“The mourners throng the ways and from the steeple
The funeral bells toll slow;
But on the golden streets the holy people
Are passing to and fro.
“And saying as they meet, ‘Rejoice. Another,
Long waited for is come.
The Savior’s heart is glad, a younger Brother
Has reached the Father’s home.’”
“The cause of this universal mourning is to be found in the man himself.
The inspired penman’s picture of Jonathan, likening him unto the ‘Beauty
of Israel,’ could not be more appropriately employed than in chanting
the lament of our fallen chieftain. It does no violence to human speech,
nor is it fulsome eulogy, to speak thus of him, for who that has seen
his stately bearing, his grace and manliness of demeanor, his kindliness
of aspect, but gives assent to this description of him.
“It was characteristic of our beloved President that men met him only to
love him. They might indeed differ with him, but in the presence of such
dignity of character and grace of manner none could fail to love the
man. The people confided in him, believed in him. It was said of Lincoln
that probably no man since the days of Washington was ever so deeply
imbedded and enshrined in the hearts of the people, but it is true of
McKinley in a larger sense. Industrial and social conditions are such
that he was, even more than his predecessors, the friend of the whole
people.
“A touching scene was enacted in this church last Sunday night. The
services had closed. The worshipers were gone to their homes. Only a few
lingered to discuss the sad event that brings us together to-day. Three
men in working garb, of a foreign race and unfamiliar tongue, entered
the room. They approached the altar, kneeling before it and before his
picture. Their lips moved as if in prayer, while tears furrowed their
cheeks. They may have been thinking of their own King Humbert and of his
untimely death. Their emotion was eloquent, eloquent beyond speech, and
it bore testimony to their appreciation of manly friendship and of
honest worth.
“It is a glorious thing to be able to say in this presence, with our
illustrious dead before us, that he never betrayed the confidence of his
countrymen. Not for personal gain or pre-eminence would he mar the
beauty of his soul. He kept it clean and white before God and man, and
his hands were unsullied by bribes. ‘His eyes looked right on, and his
eyelids looked straight before him.’
“He was sincere, plain and honest, just, benevolent and kind. He never
disappointed those who believed in him, but measured up to every duty,
and met every responsibility in life grandly and unflinchingly.
“Not only was our President brave, heroic and honest; he was as gallant
a knight as ever rode the lists for his lady love in the days when
knighthood was in flower. It is but a few weeks since the nation looked
on with tear-dimmed eyes as it saw with what tender conjugal devotion he
sat at the bedside of his beloved wife, when all feared that a fatal
illness was upon her. No public clamor that he might show himself to the
populace, no demand of a social function, was sufficient to draw the
lover from the bedside of his wife. He watched and waited while we all
prayed—and she lived.
“This sweet and tender story all the world knows, and the world knows
that his whole life had run in this one groove of love. It was a strong
arm that she leaned upon, and it never failed her. Her smile was more to
him than the plaudits of the multitude, and for her greeting his
acknowledgments of them must wait. After receiving the fatal wound his
first thought was that the terrible news might be broken gently to her.
“May God in this deep hour of sorrow comfort her. May His grace be
greater than her anguish. May the widow’s God be her God.
“Another beauty in the character of our President that was a chaplet of
grace about his neck was that he was a Christian. In the broadest,
noblest sense of the word that was true. His confidence in God was
strong and unwavering. It held him steady in many a storm where others
were driven before the wind and tossed. He believed in the fatherhood of
God and in His sovereignty.
“His faith in the gospel of Christ was deep and abiding. He had no
patience with any other theme of pulpit discourse. ‘Christ and Him
crucified’ was to his mind the only panacea for the world’s disorders.
He believed it to be the supreme duty of the Christian minister to
preach the word. He said ‘We do not look for great business men to enter
the pulpit, but for great preachers.’
“It is well known that his godly mother had hoped for him that he would
become a minister of the gospel and that she believed it to be the
highest vocation in life. It was not, however, his mother’s faith that
made him a Christian. He had gained in early life a personal knowledge
of Jesus which guided him in the performance of greater duties and
vaster than have been the lot of any other American President. He said
at one time, while bearing heavy burdens, that he could not discharge
the daily duties of his life but for the fact that he had faith in God.
“William McKinley believed in prayer, in the beauty of it, in the
potency of it. Its language was not unfamiliar to him, and his public
addresses not infrequently evinced the fact. It was perfectly consistent
with his lifelong convictions and his personal experiences that he
should say at the first critical moment after the assassination
approached, ‘Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done.’ He lived grandly; it
was fitting that he should die grandly. And now that the majesty of
death has touched and calmed him, we find that in his supreme moment he
was still a conqueror.
“My friends and countrymen, with what language shall I attempt to give
expression to the deep horror of our souls as I speak of the cause of
his death? When we consider the magnitude of the crime that has plunged
the country and the world into unutterable grief, we are not surprised
that one nationality after another has hastened to repudiate the
dreadful act.
“This gentle spirit, who hated no one, to whom every man was a brother,
was suddenly smitten by the cruel hand of an assassin, and that, too,
while in the very act of extending a kind and generous greeting to one
who approached him under the sacred guise of friendship. Could the
assailant have realized how awful was the act he was about to perform,
how utterly heartless the deed, methinks he would have stayed his hand
at the very threshold of it.
“In all the coming years men will seek in vain to fathom the enormity of
that crime. Had this man who fell been a despot, a tyrant, an oppressor,
an insane frenzy to rid the world of him might have sought excuse; but
it was the people’s friend who fell when William McKinley received the
fatal wound.
“Himself a son of toil, his sympathies were with the toiler. No one who
has seen the matchless grace and perfect ease with which he greeted such
can ever doubt that his heart was in his open hand. Every heart throb
was for his countrymen.
“That his life should be sacrificed at such a time, just when there was
abundant peace, when all the Americans were rejoicing together, is one
of the inscrutable mysteries of Providence. Like many others, it must be
left for future revelations to explain.
“In the midst of our sorrow we have much to console us. He lived to see
his nation greater than ever before. All sectional lines are blotted
out. There is no South, no North, no East, no West. Washington saw the
beginning of our national life. Lincoln passed through the night of our
history and saw the dawn. McKinley beheld his country in the splendor of
its noon. Truly, he died in the fullness of his fame.
“With Paul he could say, and with equal truthfulness, ‘I am now ready to
be offered.’ The work assigned him had been well done. The nation was at
peace. We had fairly entered upon an era of unparalleled prosperity. Our
revenues were generous. Our standing among the nations was secure. Our
President was safely enshrined in the affections of a united people.
“It was not at him that the fatal shot was fired, but at the very life
of the government. His offering was vicarious. It was blood poured upon
the altar of human liberty. In view of these things we are not surprised
to hear from one who was present when this great soul passed away that
he never before saw a death so peaceful, or a dying man so crowned with
grandeur.
“Let us turn now to a brief consideration of some of the lessons that we
are to learn from this sad event. The first one that will occur to us
all is the old, old lesson that ‘in the midst of life we are in death.’
‘Man goeth forth to his work and to his labor until the evening.’ ‘He
fleeth as it were a shadow and never continueth in one stay.’
“Our President went forth in the fullness of his strength, in his manly
beauty, and was suddenly smitten by the hand that brought death with it.
None of us can tell what a day may bring forth. Let us therefore
remember that ‘no man liveth to himself and none of us dieth to
himself.’ ‘May each day’s close see each day’s duty done.’
“Another great lesson that we should heed is the vanity of mere earthly
greatness. In the presence of the Dread Messenger how small are all the
trappings of wealth and distinctions of rank and power. I beseech you,
seek Him who said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he that
believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever
liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.’ There is but one Savior for
the sinsick and the weary. I entreat you, find Him, as our brother found
Him.
“But our last words must be spoken. Little more than four years ago we
bade him good-by as he went to assume the great responsibilities to
which the nation had called him. His last words as he left us were:
“‘Nothing could give me greater pleasure than this farewell
greeting—this evidence of your friendship and sympathy, your good will,
and I am sure the prayers of all the people with whom I have lived so
long and whose confidence and esteem are dearer to me than any other
earthly honors.
“‘To all of us the future is as a sealed book, but if I can, by official
act or administration or utterance, in any degree add to the prosperity
and unity of our beloved country, and the advancement and well-being of
our splendid citizenship, I will devote the best and most unselfish
efforts of my life to that end. With this thought uppermost in my mind,
I reluctantly take leave of my friends and neighbors, cherishing in my
heart the sweetest memories and thoughts of my old home—my home now—and
I trust my home hereafter so long as I shall live.’
“We hoped, with him, that when his work was done, freed from the burdens
of his great office, crowned with the affections of a happy people, he
might be permitted to close his earthly life in the home he loved. He
has indeed returned to us, but how? Borne to the strains of ‘Nearer, My
God, to Thee,’ and placed where he first began life’s struggle, that the
people might look and weep over so sad a home-coming.
“But it was a triumphal march. How vast the procession. The nation rose,
stood with uncovered head. The people of the land are chief mourners.
The nations of the earth weep with them. But, oh, what a victory! I do
not ask you in the heat of public address, but in the calm moments of
mature reflection, what other man ever had such high honors bestowed
upon him and by so many people? What pageant has equaled this that we
look upon to-night?
“We gave him to the nation but a little more than four years ago. He
went out with the light of the morning upon his brow, but with his task
set, and the purpose to complete it. We take him back a mighty
conqueror.
“‘The churchyard where his children rest,
The quiet spot that suits him best;
There shall his grave be made,
And there his bones be laid.
And there his countrymen shall come,
With memory proud, with pity dumb,
And strangers far and near,
For many and many a year,
For many and many an age,
While history on her ample page
The virtues shall enroll
Of that paternal soul.’”
Venerable Bishop I. W. Joyce of Minneapolis then led in brief prayer. He
had been conducting the East Ohio Methodist Episcopal conference at New
Philadelphia when the President died. The conference adjourned, and
Bishop Joyce and his cabinet have been ever since at the disposal of the
friends of the President. He especially remembered President Roosevelt
in his petition this afternoon.
The choir then sang “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” at first softly, and then
rising into the passionate declaration, “Still all my song shall be.” It
was as if the whole nation were being brought closer to the great white
throne by the sacrifice of their President’s life.
Rev. Father Edward J. Vattmann of Chicago pronounced the benediction. He
is chaplain of the United States Army at Fort Sheridan.
It was after 3 o’clock when the silent and anxious throngs outside the
church saw the solemn pageant reappear through the church doors. A more
impressive sight than the cortege of the President from the church to
the cemetery has seldom been witnessed in this country. Nominally it was
a private funeral. Actually it was a national demonstration. More than
12,000 marching men were in line. About 6,000 were the citizen soldiery
of Ohio. The others were old soldiers and members of civic and fraternal
organizations from all quarters of the state.
The head of the cortege arrived at Westlawn Cemetery at 3:30 o’clock.
The roadway from the gate to the receiving vault was carpeted with
flowers. Geraniums, carnations, sweet peas and roses had been strewn in
great profusion. The old soldiers who had marched the weary march to
honor their old comrade a last time could not forego the chance to take
away a fragrant souvenir of his earthly end. One by one they stooped to
gather a flower, and when they had passed the roadway it was almost
bare.
The funeral car reached the cemetery gates at 4 o’clock. From the
hilltop the President’s salute of twenty-one guns, fired at intervals of
one minute, announced its coming. The military guards came to a
“present” with a snap as the funeral car approached for the last scene
in the life and death of William McKinley—a scene beautiful and
impressive as his life had been.
After the arrival of the casket there was a moment’s pause as Colonel
Bingham looked to see that all was in readiness. He then looked toward
Bishop Joyce, who read the burial service of the Methodist church,
slowly but in a voice that could be heard distinctly by all who were
grouped about the vault. Instantly from the eight buglers rang out the
notes of the soldier’s last call, “taps.”
With bared heads the President and members of the cabinet, who were
followed by the officers of the army and navy, stood on each side of the
walk, the lines reaching just to the edge of the roadway. Within a
minute after the formation of the lines, the funeral car came up to the
walk. The casket was gently lifted from the hearse, and borne to the
floor of the vault, where it was rested upon the catafalque.
The last of the procession passed the bier at 5:45 o’clock, and then
orders were given by Captain Riddle that the cemetery be cleared. This
was quickly done, and the President was left in the care of his guard of
honor. The first sentry to be posted in a tour of guard duty before the
doorway was Private Otto White of Company C, Fourteenth Infantry, whose
home is in Genoa, Ohio.
The vault gates closed with a hollow clang as the soldiers took up the
weary round of sentry duty in the lonely cemetery. Two miles away, in
the cottage so lately the home of a President, a heart-broken widow
wrestled with her grief.
And the funeral of William McKinley was over.