New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1844-03-02
THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN.
BY ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.

THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN
BY ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.
no ve hear the children weeping, y my orothers.
10 ne ,ho screw comes with years mothers,
IT,, are leaning their Young heads against their
And that cannot stop their tears.
Tho voung lambs are beating in the meadows,
The young birds are chipping in the nest,
The young fawns are PLAYING IN the shadows,
The Young flowers are blowing from the West;
But the Young, young children, my brothers
They weeping bitterly!
They are weeping in the playtime OF the others,
In the country OF the iree
No Won question the young children in their sorrow,
Why their tears are falling so!
The old man may weep for his tomorrow
Which is lost in long ago.
The old tree is eahess in the forest,
The old wear is ending in the frost;
The old wound if stricken, is the sorest,
The old hope is hardest to be lost!
But the young, young children, my brothers
Do YOU ask them why they stand
Iyeeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy fatherland
They look up with their pale and sunken faces,
And their looks are sad to sec;
For the Mans grief untmely draws and presses
Down the cheeks of Infancy.
your old Earth, they say is very dreary,;
Our young feet they say, are very weak
Few PAGES have we taken, yet are weary
Oar grave-rest is very far to seek
Ask the old why they weep, and not the children,
For the outside earth is cold, lrlng
And we Young ones stand without IN our bewld-
And the graves are for the old.
True saythe young children, 'itmay happen
That we die before our time
Little Alice died last year,-the grave is shapen
Like SNOWFALL, in the rime.
We looked into the pit prepared TO take her,
Vas no room for any arork IN the close clay!
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her,
Cot, 1itfIa lIrC II I G
If YOU listen by that grave in sun and shower,
With your ear down, little Alice never cries her.
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know
ForMe neo smile rhich has green s'ft,n her eyes.
For merry go her moments, Iulied ana sulled IN
The shroud, by the kirk chime
Itis good when it happens say the children,
THAT we die before our time F.!
Alas, the Young children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have
They are binding upt their hearts away frombreakng,
With cerement from the grave.
Go out children, from the mine and from the city,
Sing out, children, the little thrushes do!
Puck YOUR handfuls of the meadow cowslips pretty,
Laugh aloud to feel your fingers let them through!
But the children say Are cowslips of the meadows
Like the weeds anear the mine :"
Leave us quiet in the dark of our coalshadows
From your pleasures fair and fine.
For oh say the children, we are weary,
And we cannot run or leap:
IF zee cared for arg mead0lrS, 1t 1rere merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our knees tremble sorely in the STOPPING,
We fall on our face trying to go;
And underneath our heavy eyelids dropping,
The reddest focer ,roula look as pale as sno1c;
For all day. we drag our burden firing,
Through the coal dark underground,
Or all day, we drive the wheels of iron
In the factories round and round.
All dav long the wheels are dronng, turning,
Their wind comes in our faces! burning,
heart tn
And the walls turn in their places!
Turns the sky in the high window blank and Keeling,
Turns the long light that droopeth down the wall,
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling,
Are all turning all the day, and we with all
All day long, the iron wheels are droning,
And sometimes we could pray,
20 We wheels {breaking off in mad moaning,)
Stop! be silent for to-day!'
Av, be silent! lei them hear each other breathing,
For moment, mouth to mouth; ling
Let them touch each others hands, fresh wreath
Of their tender human youth;
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God giyeth them to feel;
Let them prove their inward souls against the notion
That they live in you, or under you, wheels
Still, all day. the iron wheels go onward,
As il fate in each stark ward
Spin on blndly in the dark.
Now tell the weary children, my brothers!
That they look to Him and pray,
For the blessed One who blesseth all the others,
To bless them another day.
They answer-'Who is God that He should hear us
While this rushing Of the iron wheels is stirred
When we sob aloud, the human creatures us
Pass unhearing-at least, answer not word;
And we hear not for the wheels in their resounding
Strangers speaking at the door.
Is it likely God with angels singing round Him,
Hears our weeping any more
Two words indeed, of praying we remember;
And at midnght's hour OF harm,
Our Father . looking upward in our chamber
We say softly for charm.t
We say no other words except Or Father''
He may pluck them with the silence sweet t
gather,
And hold both in His right hand. which is strong
Our Father! If He heard u.s. He would surely
For they call Him good and mildly
Answer, ismiing down the steep world very purely,
Come and rest with me- my child
But no. say the children, weeping faster,
He is silent as stone;
And they tell US, of His image is the mdster
Who commands US 10 work on.
Go to- say the children sup in Heaven,
Dark, wheel-lille, turning clouds are all we find.
Do not mock us, we are atheists in our grieving,
Welook up to Him-6utt tears haze made us bland!
Do YOU hear children weeping and disproving,
my brothers, what We teach
For Gods possible is taught by His worlds loving
And the children doubt of each!
And well may the children weep before We,
They are meary ere they ran!
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun!
They know the grief of men, but not the wisdom,
They sink in their despair, with hope at calm,
Are slaves without liberty in Christdom,
Are martyrs by the pang without the palm.
Are worn as If with age; yet unretrevingly