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!