CARTER HARRISON'S MURDER.
By T. F. Ford.
In looking o'er the papers we read most every day
Of murders being committed and souls that pass away,
Assassins with their weapons committing fearful crime,
And so 'twill be forever until the end of time.
But the saddest of them all was that which happened here of late,
The murder of Carter Harrison, October twenty-eight;
He was shot down by a murderer within his mansion door,
And died in fearful agony upon his parlor floor.
Returning home from Jackson Park, where he had been all day,
Entertaining visitors who had come from far away,
Happy and contented he had mingled with the crowd,
Not dreaming that he soon would be encircled in death's shroud.
With his wedding day appointed, and his young affianced wife
Preparing for the ceremony which would make them one for life,
Our noble-hearted Carter has forever passed away-
Taken from us suddenly without even time to pray.
What shall we do with Prendergast, this fiend in human form,
Who assassinated Harrison, which causes us to mourn?
Shall we lynch him to a lamp-post or burn him at the stake,
Or allow a court of justice its uncertain way to take?
His pretensions of insanity will not avail him now,
For the traits of a great criminal are stamped upon his brow;
He must hang upon the gallows high, this miserable slayer.
And we will then have vengeance on the assassin of our mayor.
How sad must be the feelings of those broken-hearted ones,
His affianced wife and daughter, his brave and manly sons,
Who are left behind in sorrow by the doings of a crank,
A would-be politician coming from life's lowest rank.
If inch a man is thus allowed our bravest men to kill
With their knife and deadly pistol, innocent blood to spill,
A vigilance committee will be organized, and then
A sure and speedy vengeance will be their deserving end.