Of this trait I have had many proofs. For instance, I know that on some occasions when he has been due to start for a place of execution, his repugnance to the task has been so great that his wife and her mother have been obliged to use the greatest possible force of persuasion to prevent him shirking his duty. Another instance of this characteristic appeared when I was overhauling his manuscript and cuttings for the purpose of this book. I came across a copy of a poem "For one under Sentence of Death," and made some enquiry about it. I found that the lines were some which Mr. Berry had copied from a Dorchester newspaper, and that for a long time it had been his habit to make a copy of them, to send to the chaplain in every case where a prisoner was sentenced to death, with a request that they should be read to the prisoner. This was continued until the governor of one of the gaols resented the sending of such a poem to the chaplain, and intimated that in all cases the chaplain was best able to judge of what was necessary for the condemned man, and did not need any outside interference. After this Mr. Berry sent no more poems, but he kept one or two copies by him, and I think that it may interest the reader.
My brother,--Sit and think, While yet some hours on earth are left to thee; Kneel to thy God, who does not from thee shrink, And lay thy sins on Christ, who died for thee.
He rests His wounded hand With loving kindness, on thy sin-stained brow, And says--"Here at thy side I ready stand, To make thy scarlet sins as white as snow.
"I did not shed My blood For sinless angels, good and pure and true; For hopeless sinners flowed that crimson flood, My heart's blood ran for you, my son, for you.
"Though thou hast grieved me sore, My arms of mercy still are open wide, I still hold open Heaven's shining door, Come then--take refuge in My wounded side.
"Men shun thee--but not I, Come close to me--I love my erring sheep. My blood can cleanse thy sins of blackest dye, I understand, if thou canst only weep."
Words fail thee--never mind, Thy Saviour can read e'en a sigh, or tear; I came, sin-stricken heart, to heal and bind, And died to save thee--to My heart thou'rt dear.
Come now--the time is short, Longing to pardon and to bless, I wait; Look up to Me, My sheep so dearly bought, And say, "forgive me, e'er it is too late." E. B. C.