She bore her torture for duty's sake,
Firm as saint in the tower and at the stake,
Bore want and woe, and his evil name,
For him who for years was dead to shame
She saw his brood about her knee
Into an evil lot they were born
To bear for his sin the cruel scorn
Of the world unthinking, hard and cold
Prematurely saddened, early old,
They never knew home as a place of rest,
Except when their home was the mother's breast,
And worse than all she had to see
Them taught the secrets of sin and woe,
Which happier children never know
Alas! that such a thing should be
Her darlings were made to pass through the fire
To the Moloch of vice and sinful desire,
The father's example of life and tongue
Brought the knowledge of evil to them while young,
And in sorrow and shame,
That none may name,
In strife and sin all tempest-tost
The innocence God gives to babes was lost
All is over, nought's left but dishonoured clay,
But the evil men do lives longer than they.
Of a truth the saddest for tongue or pen
Are these words o'er a ruin--"He might have been,"
And sadder the words in jest set free
"This is; but alas! it should not be."