Transcription
The fate of Johunng Johnston. L[e]t us as Christian people For a moment contemplate On that awful crime at Whifflet On young Johnny Johnston's fate, At the age of thirteen, murdered, All in secret, in a room, Which had chilled the hearts of thousands When report spread of his doom. Countless were the sympathisers Of the parents of the boy, Who had been to them from childhood, Their delight, their hope, and joy, And what wonder at their grieving O'er a boy so free from blame, When the good boy gives such promise That the man will be the same. To a house which was adjacent To his home he was decoyed, And while there his joyous young life Had been cruelly destroyed. Then his charred remains were bundled And tied on to a go-cart Which was wheeled along to Glasgow By a fiend without a heart. The most daring pen of fiction Would not venture to depict Such audacity and coolness Through a populous district, But the temper leaves the culprit Blind to sense of shame, Who may walk abroad as coolly As a person free from blame. Kindly was that lorry driver Who knew nothing of her drift, Who on going into Glasgow Gave the poor tired woman a lift, And that kindly hearted fellow Most politely put her down, At the place that she requested, On the outskirts of the town Here a little boot protruded From the bundle, which was seen By a woman at a window, Whose perception had been keen, And that keen perceptive woman In her duty was not slack, For she in the shortest notice Put the right man on her track. What had been the person's motive For committing such a crime ? Is the question one keeps asking And repeating all the time Surely not for the few coppers Which the little fellow had- That he got for selling papers For a little comrade lad. In this land of open Bibles Where the Church-bells ring so loud, Of some people's moral standing We have reason to be proud, Where a little boy is murdered, Whom his parents held so dear, For the paltry sum of ninepence To obtain a drink of beer. Royal was the splendid funeral Which the public to him gave, For the roads were black with people From his home right to his grave, Out they came in tens of thousands, Out from home some miles away, Out as sympathetic mourners, They came on Johnny's funeral day. And with undivided sorrow That last tribute of respect, Had been shown to him by people Who had known the home was wrecked. Of his poor grief-stricken parents Bowed beneath their weighty cross, Left to drain their cup of sadness, And to deeply mourn their loss. W M. MARKHAM BROWN, 3 Davidson Street, AIRDRIE.
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