by James Whitcomb Riley
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!
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