The Dying Statesman

It is a politician man—
He draweth near his end,
And friends weep round that partisan,
Of every man the friend.

Between the Known and the Unknown
He lieth on the strand;
The light upon the sea is thrown
That lay upon the land.

It shineth in his glazing eye,
It burneth on his face;
God send that when we come to die
We know that sign of grace!

Upon his lips his blessed sprite
Poiseth her joyous wing.
“How is it with thee, child of light?
Dost hear the angels sing?”

“The song I hear, the crown I see,
And know that God is love.
Farewell, dark world—I go to be
A postmaster above!”

For him no monumental arch,
But, O, ’tis good and brave
To see the Grand Old Party march
To office o’er his grave!