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!