Of grace. If, perchance, God's only Son
Would say, "Whosoever will may come."
But we hasten to draw a veil over the scene,
With his God we leave him—only sixteen.
Only sixteen.
Rumseller, come view the work you have wrought:
Witness the suffering and pain you have brought
To the poor boy's friends. They loved him well,
And yet you dared the vile beverage to sell
That beclouded his brain, his reason dethroned,