Deeds will be done,—while he boasts his qui escence, Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire. Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more, One task more declin'd, one more foot-path untrod, One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels, One wrong more to man, one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain, Forced praise on our part--the glimmer of twilight, Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well, for we taught him-strike gallantly, Menace our heart ere we master his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, Pardon'd in heaven, the first by the throne! 1845. 32 Robert Browning. THE VOICE OF TOIL I HEARD men saying, Leave hope and praying, All days shall be as all have been; To-day and to-morrow bring fear and sorrow, The never-ending toil between. When Earth was younger mid toil and hunger, In hope we strove, and our hands were strong; Then great men led us, with words they fed us, And bade us right the earthly wrong. Go read in story their deeds and glory, Where fast and faster our iron master, 8 Bids us grind treasure and fashion pleasure Where home is a hovel and dull we grovel, Where no babe we cherish, lest its very soul Where mirth is crime, and love a snare. Who now shall lead us, what god shall heed us I heard men saying, Leave tears and praying, wronger, When day breaks over dreams and sleep? 16 20 24 28 Come, shoulder to shoulder ere the world grows older! Help lies in nought but thee and me; Hope is before us, and the long years that bore us Bore leaders more than men may be. Let dead hearts tarry and trade and marry, Come, shoulder to shoulder ere earth grows older! The Cause spreads over land and sea; Now the world shaketh, and fear awaketh, 32 36 40 1884. William Morris. THE SONG OF THE SHIRT WITH fingers weary and worn, Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt." "Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work-work-work, Till the stars shine through the roof! It's, Oh! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work! "Work-work-work Till the brain begins to swim; Work-work-work Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream! Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, "But why do I talk of Death? That Phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own t 16 24 32 It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep; Oh, God! that bread should be so dear, "Work-work-work! My labour never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, That shattered roof-and this naked floor- And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank "Work-work-work! From weary chime to chime, Work-work-work As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band, Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd. As well as the weary hand. "Work-work-work, In the dull December light, And work-work-work, When the weather is warm and bright- While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling As if to show me their sunny backs And twit me with the Spring. 64 40 48 56 |