Proud of his boy and his ticket, said he, "A new morsel of fame
We'll lay on the candidate's altar"—and christened the child with his name.
Oh, what have I done, a weak woman, in what have I meddled with harm,
(Troubling only my God for the sunshine and rain on my rough little farm,)
That my ploughshares are beaten to swords, and whetted before my eyes,
That my tears must cleanse a foul nation, my lamb be a sacrifice?
Oh, 'tis true there's a country to save, man, and 'tis true there is no appeal,
But did God see my boy's name lying the uppermost one in the wheel?
Five stalwart sons has my neighbour, and never the lot upon one;
Are these things Fortune's caprices, or is it God's will that is done?