service is ended, not by the expiration of time, but by the tragedy of
assassination. He has passed from public sight, not joyously bearing the
garlands and wreaths of his countrymen's approving acclaim, but amid the
sobs and tears of a mourning nation. He has gone to his home, not the
habitation of earthly peace and quiet, bright with domestic comfort and
joy, but to the dark and narrow house appointed for all the sons of men,
there to rest until the morning light of the resurrection shall gleam in
the East.

All our people loved their dead president. His kindly nature and lovable
traits of character and his amiable consideration for all about him will
long be in the minds and hearts of his countrymen. He loved them in
return with such patriotism and unselfishness that in the hour of their
grief and humiliation he would say to them: "It is God's will; I am
content. If there is a lesson in my life or death, let it be taught to
those who still live and have the destiny of their country in their
keeping."

Let us, then, as our dead is buried out of our sight, seek for the
lessons and the admonitions that may be suggested by the life and death
which constitute our theme.

First in my thoughts are the lessons to be learned from the career of
William McKinley by the young men who make up the student body of our
university. These lessons are not obscure or difficult. They teach the
value of study and mental training, but they teach more impressively
that the road to usefulness and to the only success worth having, will
be missed or lost except it is sought and kept by the light of those
qualities of heart, which it is sometimes supposed may safely be
neglected or subordinated in university surroundings. This is a great