God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, And hold both within His right hand which is strong. Our Father! If He heard us, He would surely (For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, 'Come and rest with me, my child.' "But no!" say the children, weeping faster, And they tell us, of His image is the master Go to!" say the children, — " up in Heaven, Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. For God's possible is taught by his world's loving, And well may the children weep before you! They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory, They know the grief of man, without his wisdom. The harvest of its memories cannot reap, Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly. They look up, with their pale and sunken faces, For they mind you of their angels in high places, "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation, Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart, Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, And your purple shows your path ! THE PEOPLE'S PETITION W. M. W. CALL THE landlords, who were naturally interested to secure high prices for their crops, had induced Parliament to pass a corn law (1815) imposing heavy taxes on all grains imported into the country. This prevented foreigners from sending their grain to England, and bread, since it must be made of English wheat, was very dear. Workingmen found it difficult to buy sufficient food for themselves and their families. It was a grievance most keenly felt by the people of the towns who had no garden-land. Much was said and written against the corn law, but no argument could induce the government to abandon this wicked tax until 1846. Then the potato crop failed, and the Irish peasants, deprived of their staple food, began to die of starvation. The corn law was speedily repealed, and it has since been the policy of Great Britain to lay import duties only upon luxuries. O lords! O rulers of the nation! O softly cloth'd! O richly fed! For you we are content to toil, Your silken robes, with endless care, In the red forge-light do we stand, We sow your fields, ye reap the fruit; Hear but our prayer, and we are mute: Throughout old England's pleasant fields Fathers are we; we see our sons, Then hear us, O ye mighty ones! 'Tis vain with cold, unfeeling eye We turn from you, our lords by birth, We all are made of the same earth, Are children of one love. Then, Father of this world of wonders, Judge of the living and the dead, Lord of the lightnings and the thunders, THE DAY IS COMING WILLIAM MORRIS MUCH has been done for the welfare of the people in England, but much yet remains to do. William Morris hoped that all distinction between rich and poor would be done away and that every man would labor for the common good. The poet's dream may yet become reality. Come hither lads and hearken, for a tale there is to tell, Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all And the tale shall be told of a country, a land in the midst of the sea, And folk shall call it England in the days that are going to be. There more than one in a thousand in the days that are yet to come, Shall have some hope of the morrow, some joy of the ancient home. For then, laugh not, but listen, to this strange tale of mine, All folk that are in England shall be better lodged than swine. Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his hand, Nor yet come home in the even too faint and weary to stand. Men in that time a-coming shall work and have no fear For to-morrow's lack of earning and the hunger-wolf anear. I tell you this for a wonder, to snatch at the work he had. For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed, Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed. |