That Mormon
Although ‘twas a tendency I strove to smother,
I am forced to confess that I couldn’t do other
Than greet him and treat him just like my own brother,
That Mormon.
Though viewed with disdain by the eyes of the world,
Though taunts and abuse about him were hurled,
His count’nance was calm and his lip never curled –
That Mormon.
His lip never curled, for his foes he’d no scorn;
His face was as radiant and smiling as morn,
He’d always a kind word to cheer the forlorn,
That Mormon.
The children all loved him, and that’s a good sign;
As they perched on his knee and their arms did entwine
Round his neck – good as saying, “I’m his,” “He is mine,”
That Mormon.
There was something about him quite hard to explain,
A something for which I would give much to gain;
A something he had which I have not, ‘tis plain,
That Mormon.
Ah, well, he is gone! But I’m hoping some day
To know why I loved him in such a fond way,
While others would shun him and scornfully say,
That Mormon.
(1912)