The Cry of the Children. God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,' Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, "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 its wisdom; The harvest of its memories cannot reap,—.. They look up, with their pale and sunken faces, For they mind you of their angels in high places, i With eyes turned on Deity. "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation, 287 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, But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper Than the strong man in his wrath!" Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] THE SHADOW-CHILD Why do the wheels go whirring round, Mother, mother? Oh, mother, are they giants bound, And rumble-grumble ever. Why do I pick the threads all day, While sunshine children are at play? And must I work forever? Yes, shadow-child; the live-long day, Daughter, little daughter, Your hands must pick the threads away, And feel the sunshine never. Why do the birds sing in the sun, Mother, mother? If all day long I run and run, Run with the wheels forever? But with the wheels your feet must run- Why do I feel so tired each night, The wheels are always buzzing bright; Do they grow sleepy never? Oh, baby thing, so soft and white, The big wheels grind us in their might, Mother Wept And is the white thread never spun, Mother, mother? And is the white cloth never done, Oh, yes, our thread will all be spun, When we lie down out in the sun, Oh, shall we laugh and sing and play Nay, shadow-child, we'll rest all day, Where green grass grows and roses gay, There in the sun forever. Harriet Monroe [1860 MOTHER WEPT MOTHER wept, and father sighed; With delight aglow Cried the lad, "To-morrow," cried, "To the pit I go." Up and down the place he sped,— Far and wide the tidings spread; Came his cronies; some to gaze Free with counsel; some with praise: "May he," many a gossip cried, "Be from peril kept." Father hid his face and sighed, 289 Mother turned and wept. Joseph Skipsey [1852-1903] DUTY So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, "Thou must," The youth replies, "I can." Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882] LUCY GRAY OR SOLITUDE OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; You yet may spy the fawn at play, "To-night will be a stormy night,You to the town must go; And take a lantern, Child, to light Your mother through the snow." "That, Father, will I gladly do: The minster-clock has just struck two, At this the Father raised his hook, Lucy Gray Not blither is the mountain roe: Her feet disperse the powdery snow, The storm came on before its time: The wretched parents all that night At daybreak on the hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. They wept, and, turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet; When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge And then an open field they crossed- They followed from the snowy bank Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none! 291 I |