The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1901-09-26
A WEEK OF TEARS.

The past week was almost unique in
the experience of the civilized world.
Billows Of grief succeeded pillows, until
at last the whole civilized world was
bathed in tears. Men at the work.
bench, on the farm, in the Office or
study, stopped in the regular routine of
life to shed honest tears for our fallen
Chief. Palace and howell were draped
to honor the Nations Martyr. Well
may great nation, with ashes on its
head, weep in the passion of almost
despairing grief at the premature end
ing of life so noble as this. The re-
port of the assassin's revolver was
heard on both sides of the Atlantic and
on the islands of the sea, and SO there
have been lamentations everywhere.
The peoples of the earth have been
cemented together as one family in
the shadow of this great bereavement.
This universal sorrow expressed itself
most emphatically as the funeral train
proceeded on its long journey from
Buffalo to Canton. At Buffalo the re-
mains as they lay in state were viewed
by fully Is, 600 fearful people. The Elk
position was closed, and all kinds of
business came to stand-still. Wash
ington never saw a darker day than
when the body for few hours was
placed in the capitol, where brief pub
lie services were held. Here, amid the
scenes of his triumphs, the dead leader
was lamented as a personal friend.
There was weeping until weeping had
exhausted itself.
But Thursday was the eliminating
day of sorrow. Ry proclamation of
President Roosevelt, seconded by the
Governors of the several States, the
people met in churches, halls, and other
public places to hold memorial services
in honor of their noble dead. The fac
tory, the forge and the loom were stilled.
Steamships upon the waters and rail
way trains climbing the mountains or
crossing the plains stood still, while
eighty millions of people with bowed
heads thought only of their dead Presi-
dent, borne to his last resting place in
the little cemetery in Ohio. Across the
water, services were held in Westmin-
ster Abbey and st. Paurs. In fact, all
round the globe there was mourning.
The whole civilized world took part in
the funeral of the beloved Chief Magis-
trate.
Solemn and impressive beyond the
power of words to describe were the
scenes at Canton, where the last sad
rites were paid. Fully one hundred
thousand people were in the little city.
Prior to the public funeral at the Meth
odist church, where Mr.. Mckinley had
long been a communicate, his home
folk, his friends and neighbors, passed
by the bier with straining, streaming
eyes; men and women, girls and youths,
little children, lifted by sisters or par
ents, tottering old people, themselves
near the grave, it was the same melan-
choly tale of sorrow. AS these painful
scenes are being enacted, the one so
closely bereaved, the widow, is unable
to attend the funeral services. The
songs dear to the heart of the dead
President were sung, the last prayer
uttered, the eulogy of his loving pastor
pronounced, the body was escorted from
the church by stately pageant, and
after ''taps'' were sounded, was laid
away behind the iron doors of vault
in Canton's hillside cemetery, there to
await the resurrection of the just.
Leaving him there, at the close of the
week of tears, we may truthfully ex-
claim:
"Life's work well done;
Life's race we'll run
T. ifa's crown we'll won: