“I think I shall—I know I shall—
For in my book I read
‘Let little children come to Me,’
That’s what the Saviour said.
“But, father, when I get to heaven
And my poor dear mamma,
And all those angels pure and bright
Shall speak of you, papa!
“And ask me what you did with it,
My mother’s darling book—
What shall your Fanny say to them?—
Father!—how ill you look!”—
“Oh! mercy, child!” the father cries,
“What hope is there for me,
Oh! I have broken all the ties
Of loved humanity!—
“See here!” and with a dreadful oath
The bottle down he cast—
“Thus do I break the drunkard’s chains
—I’ve freed myself at last.”
“Nay! curse not, father dear, but pray.”—
“How can I pray,” he cried.
“I’ll teach you, father; come this way!—
There—kneel down by my side!”—
He knelt, and in response to her,
Repeated word for word—
“To me a sinner deep and black
Be merciful, O Lord!”
She died—and as the angels bore
Her little spirit home,
They sang in joy o’er the drunkard’s soul
Thus rescued from its doom.[29]
H. W. Bidwell.
