Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/17

 ....He recall’d her smiling privations for him, her joyful contriving, Her strong plans, always for him, her happy pride in his promise.... Then, the magnanimous trust....later, the deep forbearance, Of that sensitive heart, presaging fresh anguish, a second ruin, New wounds gashing the old....yet he never had seen but his own tears, Ever a bright face to his, ever quick eager kisses For her son, her second betrayer, her worst of failures! O Death, Death, ''Death! Make a merciful end. Finish the failure for ever.'' ....Would it finish it, though, or only carry it further? She hadn’t slunk to Death....

“Boy, I have been through it all!” O, Awful, heroic cry of that comrade true to the utmost, Stripping her soul for his sake, of that splendid, intrepid sufferer, Ruler of ruin and wreck, of that sinner sainted and shining, All for hard honour still, and never-be-done requital! “Your fellow-sinner!” Not his, the cur and the coward! “Your Mother!” Ah, thank God, yes, yes! his Mother, always his Mother,