WHY I QUIT by Frances E. Bolton

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Dec 1, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 48.

WHY I QUIT.

By Frances E. Bolton

No, stranger, I hain't got no light. I used ter smoke an awful sight; But now I've quit. I've quit to stay, So blow yer smoke the tother way. How was it I quit? D'ye want to hear? I quit I reckon nigh two year. Though ’fore I quit I smoked fer twenty, Fact is, my pipe was never empty, Er ef it was, it was a law Ter have a plug inside the jaw. Ef it wasn't smoke, then it was chaw. But once I saw ez an angel saw, And so I quit.

Do you see this curl?

Well, when I quit, I loved a girl, The sweetest, innercent bit of clay That was ever molded woman's way, More of an angel than a human, More of a saint, sir, than a woman, Leastwise I never saw her like, And for her sake I quit the pipe.

Talk ter me?—No, she didn't need ter. Her very presence killed the weed, sir. I never felt so low and mean, So pig-like, filthy, and unclean, Ez when I stood within her room. She seemed to fill it with perfume— Kind ez an’ angel, an’ ez sweet. The lily flower is hard ter beat, Yet I’d hev touched a lily white Quicker’n her. She flashed a light Inter my soul, ’en then I saw The beast a man is that can chaw A dirty plug, and, what is like, The smoker of a filthy pipe.

It came ter me that God made Eve Out of first Adam’s side. D’ye b’lieve I thought He’d hed ter a made from me A creature of impurity, And never could give such a dove To such a filthy beast to love? And, sir, I said, “Afore I ask her, I’ll quit, I will.” O, what a task, sir! I’d go a spell without, and then Go back to waller in my pen. I finally told her of my plan, And asked her help me make a man. She told me God’s help was the best, Yet put a hope within my breast That if I’d be a man, pure, straight, Someday, perhaps, she’d be my mate. I went away to prove my claim, To overcome my manhood’s shame, And just a year ago to-night I went to see my lily white. A hush was round the place. An awe Fell over me before I saw That crape hung from the door knob there, And sobbing filled the quiet air.

They took me in; they made a space; I looked on my dead darling’s face, More beautiful than angels are. A light fell on it from afar. The smile she wore was not for me, But for the Lord divine. You see I knew that instant, ez ef told, That love had made me overbold.

No, not for me in time. I stepped Nearer her coffin’s side and wept, And vowed, while gazing on her face, To seek to Heaven for help and grace, To purge away my guilt and sin, To be the man I might have been.

So, stranger, grief is made more light, Since Christ has come and made me white. And some day in a world more fair, I’ll meet my lily free from care, No fume of pipe, no stain of sin; I’ll be the man I might have been. Not through my merit; I must hide In Him she loved, the Crucified. You know now why I keep no light, Save from above. So, sir, good-night.

FRANCES E. BOLTON.