I’LL KILL YOU FOR THAT, WHEN I’M A MAN!

The coffin was only a pine box. No blossoms were scattered there;

No lining of satin concealed the timber so rude and bare;

Though the beautiful golden locks were combed from her careworn face,

There was never a rag of linen shroud, not a scrap of common lace.

A boy of tender years approached where the dead lay in the room.

With sobbing heart and fevered eyes he entered the place of gloom.

"I want to see her face once more—my mother’s dear face,“ he cried.

"O’ let me see her but once again—would God that she had not died!”

"Away!" said the workhouse joiner, “Away and do as I bid;

Get out! do you hear?” he shouted, and he closed the coffin lid.

“I can’t be stopped by such brats as you,” and he strode towards the door.

“D’ye think we’re again’ to mind the whims of blubber’n pauper poor?”

“Only a minute,” the orphan cried, “a minute for one last look?”

He tightly hung to the parish box, and every fiber shock.

But the callous wretch, with curses, struck the panty child

A blow that sent him so reeling against the wall, with all his cheeks aglow;

Aglow with indignation, and a fire in his flashing eyes:

“I’ll kill you for that when I’m a man, sure as the day shall rise!”

The undertaker turned to the boy with scoff and careless grin,

But he blanched as he met those eyes, and the look that gleamed within.

The years have sped, with many a change; and court is now the scene;

With hangdog looks a culprit stands in the dock with craven mien.

“Is the man there undefended,” asked the justice, unconcerned;

And presently a counsel rose, on whom all eyes were turned.

“My Lord, I’m for he prisoner here”, And a voice the silence broke

The man approached, the bench and turned and to the jury spoke

And when he urged his argument his influence increased—

For his pleading power was matchless,--and the culprit was released.

The man accused, so broken down with anxious care and fear

Approached his unknown advocate, with thanks and many a tear;

“Nay, thank me not,” the counsel said. It was not my will that moved,

But one whose coffin once you sloshed, who always mercy loved.

You drove me from her coffined face, when that face I prayed to kiss,

And I vowed in rage, though but a child, a fearful vow—‘twas this:

I vowed to kill you when a man—to fury by you driven—

But the spirit of my mother cried, “Forgive and be forgiven”.

Then the guilty creature bowed his head and went upon his way

And lived repentant of the past and her ne’er forgot that day

But the boy who once resolved to kill, rejoiced, as seasons ran,

(Seceded)