Since Benny was in wiser, safer hands.
If he were dead, I would not sit to-day
And stain with tears the wee sock on my knee;
I would not kiss the tiny shoe and say,
“Bring back again my little boy to me!”
I would be patient, knowing ’twas God’s way,
Although I must not all the wisdom see.[[2]]
But O! to know the feet once pure and white,
The haunts of vice had boldly ventured in!
The hands that should have battled for the right,