Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1844-04-05
POETRY.
THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN.


The following verses inspired by the facts elected by
sQatng condition of tho children employed in the mines
tories, &c of Great Britain.
Do you hear the children weeping, o my brothers,
Ere the comes with yearsi
They leaning their young heads against their mothers
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs boating in the meadows,
The young birds are chipping in the nest,
The young fawns are playing in the shadows,
The young flowers arc blooming from the West
But the young, young children, o my brothers
They are weeping bitterly!
They weeping in the plnytme of the others,
IN the country of the free.
Do you 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 leafcss in the forest,
The old year is ending in tho frost
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest
The old hope is hardest to be lost
But the young, young Children o my brothers!
Do you ask thea why they stand
Weeping soro before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy iathorand5
Thoy look up witt their pale and sunkon faces,
And their looks sad to sec;
For the Mans grief untimoly draws and presses
Down the checks Of Infancy.
Our young feet" they say, "arc very weak
Our grave-rest is very far to seek
Ask the old why thoy weep, aud not the children,
For the outside earth is cold,
And we young ones stand without, in bcwild'rlng,
And the graves are for the old"
"True,n say tho children, it may happen
That we may die before our time
Little Alice died last year, the grave is shapen
Like a SNOWFALL, in the rhine.
We looked into the pit prepared to take her,
Was for any work in the close clay
From the sleep wherein she eth none will wake her.
Crying Got up, little Alice, it is day
If you listen by that grave in sun aud shower,
With your down, little Alice never cries.
Could see her face, be should not know her,
For the new smile which has grown within her eyes.
The shroud, by the kirk chime !"
"lt is good, when it happens" say the children,
"That we die before our time !"
Alas, the young children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have
They binding up their hearts away from breaking,
With cerement from the grave.
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city,
Sing out, children, the little thrushes do
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow cowslps pretty,
Laugh aloud TO feel your fingers let them through!
But the children say, care cowsips of the meadows
Like the weeds the mine
Leave quiet in the dark of our coal-shadows
From your pleasures fair ind fine.
"For, oh ~ say the children, q we weary,
And we cannot run or leap:
If we cared for any meadows, it merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our knees trembe sorey in the stopping
We fall on our face trying to 20;
And underneath our heavy eyelids dropping,
The reddost flower would look as pale as snow;
For all day, drag our burden firing,
Through the coal-dark under ground,
Or, all day, we drive the wheels OF iron
In the factories round and round.
Gan day long the wheels droning, turning,
Their wind comes in our faces!
Till our hearts turn and heads with pulses burning
And the walls turn in their places
Turns the long light that droopeth down the wall,
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling,
All arc turning all the day, and we with all
All day long, the iron wheels dronng,
And sometimes we could pray,
90, ye wheels, (breaking of in sad moaning,)
Stop! be silent for to-dayH"
Ay, be silent let them hear each other breathing,
For moment, mouth to mouth;
Let them touch each others hands, in fresh wreahing
OF their tender, human youth
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God giveth them to feel
Let them prove their inward souls against the notion
That they live in you, under you, U wheel!
Still, all day, the iron wheels 90 onward
As il fate in each were stark!
And the childrons SOULS which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindiy in the dark.
Now tell the weary children, my brothers
That they look to Him and pray,
For the blessed One who blesseth all tho Others
10 bless them another day.
They -" Who is God, that lie should hear us,
While this rushing of tho iron wheels is stirred?
When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us
And hear not (for the wheels in their rosounding)
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 midnights hour of harm,
'0ur Edther' looking upward in our chamber,
We say softly, for charms
we say other words except Our Fdthcrr
And we think that, in some pause of angels song,
He may pluck them with the silence sweet gather,
And hold both in His right hand, which is strong.
sour Fdtherp If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mld)
Come and rest with me- my child."
"But no." say the children, weeping faster,
I" lie is silent Il stone
And they tell us, of His image is the master
Who commands work on.''
go to-" say the children Sup in Heaven,
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds all we find!
Do not mock us we atheists in grieving;
We look up to Hindu tears have made blind 20
Do you hear children weeping and dsprovng,
my brothers, what ye teach
For Gods possible is taught by His worlds loving,
And the children doubt of each!
And we'll may the children weep before We,
They are weary they run
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 ChrstdOm
Are martyrs by the pang without the palm
Are worn as II with age yet unretrievingly
No JOY Of memory keep;
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly
Let them weep, let them weep!
They look up, with their pale and srnken faces
And their look is dread to see
For you think you their angels in their places,
With eyes meant for Deity.
How long" they say {" how long, q cruel nation
VIII you stand, to move the world, on a chld's hear
Trenpe down with mailed heel its palpita,ion,
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart d?
Our blood splashes upward o our tyrans
And our purple shows your path
hut the chid's sob curseh deeper in the silence
Than the strong in his wrath !"