Classic Poem

Nigh to a boom that was newly made
Leaned Charles A. Dana on his pick and spade;
He smiled sardonic and paused to wait
The funeral train through the open gate.
A savage editor man was he,
And his eyes were aflame with demoniac glee
As these words came from his lips so thin:
" I gather them in — I gather them in!

" I gather them in, and their final rest
Is here — down here in the earth's dark breast.
Hancock I buried four years ago
'Neath a mossy mound where the daisies blow;
Holman and Bayard and Field I boom,
Only to leave them where violets bloom;
For, heedless of what their grandeur has been,
I gathered them in — I gathered them in!

" I gather them in, and I never care
How the victims rage or the people swear;
Thurman, McDonald, and Flower, too,
Have gently flocked to my hullabaloo,
And now I am patiently waiting here
For the Grover Cleveland boom to appear;
And, blind to the chances it has to win,
I 'll gather it in — I 'll gather it in! "