Bessie McCall (Smith)

In her coffin of pine, All decently dressed, With the lights at her head And the cross on her breast, With the roses she loved Scattered over her pall, Lies all that remains Of Bessie McCall -- --of Suicide Hall.

It was only last night She was here with the rest, With a drink going 'round, And the laughter, and jest, When a stranger came in As the music began, And his eyes questioned hers-- Then we knew 'twas--THE MAN.

For she rose to her feet, All trembling and white, With her hand at her heart, Saying only "Good-night!" Then, as one in a dream, She walked to the door, Staggered into the night, And we saw her no more

Till they found her when dawn Grew gray in the skies, With the stain on her lips And the rain in her eyes. She had found her last rest Where the black gutter ran, And the locket she wore Held the face of--THE MAN.

Oh, the price that we pay For the single mistake! Oh, the souls that men slay And the hearts that they break! Ah! Surely, somewhere, God, who pities us all, Will care for the soul Of Bessie McCall.

In her coffin of pine, All decently dressed, With the lights at her head And the cross at her breast, With the roses she loved Scattered over her pall, Lies all that remains Of Bessie McCall-- --of Suicide Hall.

--Langdon Smith, in New York American

Transcribed from "The Pandex of the Press", Series II, Vol VI, No. 6, December 1907, p. 739:

https://archive.org/stream/pandexofpress06strerich#page/738/mode/2up