A Prisoner's Lamentation.
Reading edition
A poor convict in his cell lay dying: He thought of home and loved ones dear,
He asked his cell-mate, in a whisper, "Do you think the end is drawing near?"
"If I should die before I see them Tell them how I longed tonight
To have my mother's blessed care To leave this world of sin and strife."
Oh! how he longed to see his mother And the cottage on the hill—
"God bless them all," I heard him whisper, As with tears his eyes did fill.
"Will they think of me—a prisoner— I, who was once their pride and joy?
While I sleep in the churchyard yonder Will they think of their wayward boy?
"I know I've caused them lots of trouble In wild and reckless boyish day,
But I hope that God will now forgive me When from this earth I'm called away.
"I know it broke my mother's heart When she heard of me, her wayward son,
Who five long years did serve in prison For a highway robbery he had done.
"Has Sister "Minn," whom I used to play with In days of youth, forgotten me?
If she has, I vow I can not blame her, For I've caused her pain and shame, not glee.
"There's but one wish I now shall mention— That Mother's days may be days of joy,
And when she asks for me in prison Speak mildly of her convict boy.
"Here, take this to my dear old mother! I know 'tis but a lock of hair,
But it's all I've got to give her now— I know she'll treasure it with care."
And when he handed me the keepsake His spark of life had nearly fled.
He clenched my hand and uttered "Mother!" And a poor convict there lay dead.
May all young men now take fair warning From one who's had experience long:
Guard strong against temptation's dawning— Cast off evil and do no wrong.
In your younger days court good, shun evil; Be careful who you companions choose;
When you make life's start then do not cavil— March manfully on to win, not lose.
