WELL he knew that his clothes were poor:
He was common, he humbly thought;
Child as he was, he could understand
Why he was slighted and never sought.
Yet could he help it,— his mother gone,—
Help the weight of his father's shame?
Hardest sentence of childish law:
Blaming innocence not to blame.
It was hard when the children played
All together, to be left out,—
Stand aside, with a stinging sense
That‘ twas he that they laughed about.
Thoughtless children, they felt no wrong,—
Pushed him out of the ring at play.
No one heard how his voice was choked,
No one cared when he stole away.
No one saw how he crept at last
Through the gate and the grasses deep,
Past the wall to a lonely grave
Where his mother was laid asleep.
Could she feel in her narrow bed,
Wee, cold hands, as they groped about —
Feel the tears that were dropped because
Even her grave had left him out?