 | Farm ballads |  |
105
“WHY SHOULD THEY KILL MY BABY?”
[_]
[The aged mother of the late President Garfield is reported to have exclaimed as above, upon hearing the news of his attempted assassination.]
Why should they kill my baby?—for he seems the same to me
As when, in the morning twilight, I tossed him on my knee,
And sowed for him hopes to blossom when he should become a man,
And dreamed for him such a future as only a mother can.
As when, in the morning twilight, I tossed him on my knee,
And sowed for him hopes to blossom when he should become a man,
And dreamed for him such a future as only a mother can.
I looked ahead to the noon-time with proud but trembling joy;
I had a vision of splendor for my sweet, bright-eyed boy;
But little enough I fancied that, when he had gained renown,
Base Envy's poisoned bullet would suddenly strike him down!
I had a vision of splendor for my sweet, bright-eyed boy;
But little enough I fancied that, when he had gained renown,
Base Envy's poisoned bullet would suddenly strike him down!
Why should they want to kill him? Because he had cut his way
Through Poverty's gloomy woodland out into the open day,
And sent a shout of good cheer to those who were yet within,
That honor is born of striving, and honesty yet can win?
Through Poverty's gloomy woodland out into the open day,
And sent a shout of good cheer to those who were yet within,
That honor is born of striving, and honesty yet can win?
106
Or was it because from boyhood he manfully bared his breast
To fight for the poor and lowly, and aid the sore oppressed?
Ah me! the world is working upon a treacherous plan,
When he who has struck for mankind is stricken down by man!
To fight for the poor and lowly, and aid the sore oppressed?
Ah me! the world is working upon a treacherous plan,
When he who has struck for mankind is stricken down by man!
Or did they begrudge his mother the hand he reached her still,
No odds how high he clambered up Fortune's glittering hill?
For in his proudest life-day he turned from the honors of earth,
And came and tenderly kissed me—the mother who gave him birth.
No odds how high he clambered up Fortune's glittering hill?
For in his proudest life-day he turned from the honors of earth,
And came and tenderly kissed me—the mother who gave him birth.
Shame on the wretch who struck him, and prays that the blow may kill!
And pity for his mother, if she be living still!
May God in mercy aid him his black crime to atone,
And help me to forgive him—I can not do it alone!
And pity for his mother, if she be living still!
May God in mercy aid him his black crime to atone,
And help me to forgive him—I can not do it alone!
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