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!
KISSING THE ROD.
O heart of mine, we shouldn't
Worry so!
What we've missed of calm we couldn't
Have, you know!
What we've met of stormy pain,
And of sorrow's driving rain,
We can better meet again,
If it blow!
We have erred in that dark hour
We have known,
When our tears fell with the shower,
All alone!--
Were not shine and shadow blent
As the gracious Master meant?--
Let us temper our content
With His own.
For, we know, not every morrow
Can be sad;
So, forgetting all the sorrow
We have had,
Let us fold away our fears,
And put by our foolish tears,
And through all the coming years
Just be glad.
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