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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419022" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Midnight—September 19, 1881</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">DEATH OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>ONCE in a lifetime, we may see the veil <br>Tremble and lift, that hides symbolic things; <br>The Spirit's vision, when the senses fail, <br>Sweeps the weird meaning that the outlook brings. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Deep in the midst of turmoil, it may be— <br>A crowded street, a forum, or a field,— <br>The soul inverts the telescope to see <br>To-day's event in future's years revealed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Back from the present, let us look at Rome: <br>Behold, what Cato meant, what Brutus said. <br>Hark! the Athenians welcome Cimon home! <br>How clear they are those glimpses of the dead! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But we, hard toilers, we who plan and weave <br>Through common days the web of common life, <br>What word, alas! shall teach us to receive <br>The mystic meaning of our peace and strife? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whence comes our symbol? Surely, God must speak- <br>No less than He can make us heed or pause: <br>Self-seekers we, too busy or too weak <br>To search beyond our daily lives and laws. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">From things occult our earth-turned eyes rebel; <br>No sound of Destiny can reach our ears; <br>We have no time for dreaming—Hark! a knell— <br>A knell at midnight! All the nation hears! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A second grievous throb! The dreamers wake— <br>The merchant's soul forgets his goods and ships; <br>The weary workmen from their slumbers break; <br>The women raise their eyes with quivering lips; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The miner rests upon his pick to hear;<br>The printer's type stops midway from the case; <br>The solemn sound has reached the roysterer's ear,<br>And brought the shame and sorrow to his face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again it booms! O Mystic Veil, upraise!<br>—Behold, 'tis lifted? On the darkness drawn, <br>A picture lined with light! The people's gaze,<br>Prom sea to sea, beholds it till the dawn!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A death-bed scene—a sinking sufferer lies,<br>Their chosen ruler, crowned with love and pride;<br>Around, his counselors, with streaming eyes; <br>His wife, heart-broken, kneeling by his side: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Death's shadow holds her—it will pass too soon;<br>She weeps in silence—bitterest of tears; <br>He wanders softly—Nature's kindest boon;<br>And as he murmurs, all the country hears:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For him the pain is past, the struggle ends;<br>His cares and honors fade—his younger life <br>In peaceful Mentor conies, with dear old friends; <br>His mother's arms take home his dear young wife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He stands among the students, tall and strong, <br>And teaches truths republican and grand; <br>He moves—ah, pitiful—he sweeps along <br>O'er fields of carnage leading his command! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He speaks to crowded faces—round him surge <br>Thousands and millions of excited men: <br>He hears them cheer—sees some vast light emerge— <br>Is borne as on a tempest—then—ah, then, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fancies fade, the fever's work is past;<br>A deepened pang, then recollection's thrill; <br>He feels the faithful lips that kiss their last.<br>His heart beats once in answer, and is still!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The curtain falls: but hushed, as if afraid, <br>The people wait, tear-stained, with heaving breast; <br>'Twill rise again, they know, when he is laid <br>With Freedom, in the Capitol, at rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Boyle+O%27Reilly">John Boyle O'Reilly</a><div class=q>
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ONCE in a lifetime, we may see the veil 
Tremble and lift, that hides symbolic things; 
The Spirit's vision, when the senses fail, 
Sweeps the weird meaning that the outlook brings. 

Deep in the midst of turmoil, it..."></div>
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