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.