HIS MOTHER.

DEAD! my wayward boy — my own —

Not the Law's! but mine — the good

God's free gift to me alone,

Sanctified by motherhood.

“Bad,” you say: Well, who is not?

“Brutal” — “with a heart of stone” —

And “red-handed.” — Ah! the hot

Blood upon your own!

I come not, with downward eyes,

To plead for him shamedly,—

God did not apologize

When He gave the boy to me.

Simply, I make ready now

For His verdict.— You prepare —

You have killed us both — and how

Will you face us There!