LITTLE BLOSSOM

Oh dear, I'm so tired and lonesome! I wonder why Mamma don't come.
She told me to shut up my pretty blue eyes, and before I'd wake up she'd be home.
She said she was going to see Grandma. She lives by the river so bright.
I suspect that my Mamma fell in there, and perhaps she won't be home tonight.

I guess I'm afraid to stay up here without any fire or light,
But God's lit the lamps up in Heaven. I see them all twinkling and bright.
I think I'll go down to meet Papa. I suppose then he stopped at the store.
It's a great pretty store full of bottles. I wish he wouldn't go there anymore.

Sometimes he is sick when he comes home. He stumbles and falls up the stairs,
And once when he entered the parlor, he kicked at my poor little chair.
And Mamma was so pale and frightened, she hugged me up close to her breast.
She'd call me her poor little Blossom. I guess I've forgotten the rest.

But I remember that Papa was angry. His face was so red and so wild;
And I remember he struck at poor Mamma, and hurt his poor little child.
So out in the street went the baby, her little heart beating with fright,
Until she reached that gin parlor, all radiant with music and light.
But I love him and I guess I'll go find him. Perhaps he'll come home with me soon;
And then it won't be dark and lonely, waiting for Mamma to come.

Her little hand pushed the door open, though her touch was light as a breath.
Her little feet entered the parlor that leads but to ruin and death.
"Oh Papa," she cried as she reached him, though her voice rippled out sweet and clear,
"I thought if I come I would find you. Now I'm so glad that I'm here.

"The lights are so pretty, dear Papa. I think the music is sweet.
I guess it must be suppertime, Papa, for Blossom wants something to eat.
A moment his blared eyes gazed wildly, down into her face sweet and fair,
And then a demon possessed him, his grasp for the back of a chair.

A moment, a second, it was over, the work of defend was complete.
And poor little innocent Blossom lay quivering and crushed at his feet.
Then swift as a light, came his reason, and showed him the deed he had done.
With a groan that the Devil might pity, he knelt by the quivering form.

He pressed her pale face to his bosom. He lifted her fair golden head.
A moment the baby's lips trembled, and poor little Blossom was dead.
Then in came the law so majestic, and swore with his life he must pay.
He was only a fiend or a madman, to murder a child in that way.

The man who had sold him the poison made him a demon of hell.
Sure he must be loved and respected, because he had license to sell.
They may rob you of friends and of money, send you to predication and woe;
But as long as they pay for their license, the law must protect them, you know.

God pity the women and children who are under the judgment run
And hasten the day when against it neither heart, voice nor pen shall be dunned.