HIS MOTHER.

DEAD! my wayward boy — my own — Not the Law's! but mine — the good God's free gift to me alone, Sanctified by motherhood.

“Bad,” you say: Well, who is not? “Brutal” — “with a heart of stone” — And “red-handed.” — Ah! the hot Blood upon your own!

I come not, with downward eyes, To plead for him shamedly,— God did not apologize When He gave the boy to me.

Simply, I make ready now For His verdict.— You prepare — You have killed us both — and how Will you face us There!