By Annie D. Palmer
My Robert was in the convention
Where the party’s bold scheming is done;
‘Twas the first he had ever attended,
For the lad had just turned twenty-one.
They were counting with fearful precision
The men they could muster inline,
To fight in the war that is waging
For the tottering kingdom of wine.
“You may count my dear mother against you –
I am sure of the stand she will take;
She has always been true to the party,
But she’ll play to no wine-bidder’s stake.”
Thus Robert reported, and added,
“In view of the struggle in sight,
The stand of my father is doubtful,
But my mother will stand for the right.”
“And what about you?” called a leader.
“There is wealth and position to win,
And your name has been slated for honors,
You know – if you help us get in!”
That was threatening, for Robert expected
A good place on the ticket that day:
And the inference was, “We’ll support you,
But we’re naming the price you must pay.”
I never had dreamed that my Robert
Could command so much power and might:
But he answered: “To hell with the party!
I stand with my mother for right!”
So Robert is not on the ticket
For the office he wanted to get;
But he’s on in the fight against Satan,
With the busiest men to be met.
And his stand gives a key for all conflicts
Where Sin flaunts a banner in sight:
Though the world should “stand pat” for a party,
I must be valiant for right.