His Mother.

A poem 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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