The National tribune., 1896-07-30
THE FACTORY BELL

There sound IN the morning gray,
When a few faint CLEANS are herahs OF cay:
Aud il calls the bosoms by cares opprest
Back from ihe peace-giving country OF rest
Calling them back to the workshops heat
To tle benches long aud the engines beat.
Where the brow of the worker must ever be wet
In the dew uf iis streaming. honest sweat
'T0s the factory bell tie morning bell,
Harsh are the notes OF its tuneiess kneil.
Calling them back from the dreamiand fair,
Calling them back TO the world Of care
The ioud-clangiug factory bell
And Eli ina ii moment the streets are alive,
As the ioilers pour out, like the bees from hive.
The streets awake with the tramp and the noise
or the workers-Ihe men, the women, the boys.
Onward they pour Ia the factory gates.
Behind which the gneager-t paid labor awaits
The labor that stiles The mind aud the soul;
AnC ju.i as they reach thcm there sounds the last
toll
or the factory bell the morning bell,
Harsh are the notes OF Its tunele-s Kheii,
Calling iheni back from the dreamiand fair-
Calling them back TO the world OF care
The oud-ciaiIging factory bell.
But when the great engine is iaboring SLOW
And the last few sunbeans with gold are agiow;
When the heart IL content and the brows become
dry,
And the evening is drawing her vail DER the sky,
The work he all over, the tools laid away,
All bright for the Use OF the soon-coming day,
Hank ali Of "a sudden. rush and "a bound.
sound
or the factory bell-but the evening bell;
Welcome it, tones la the evening swell;
Calling them back TO the freside bright
Aud PIE t-ant meal la the gray twilight
The welcome factory bell.
An APOLOGY FOR MY OWN wRETCHEDSEss
i look at the world through the eyes
OF my own Disforlunes. aud see
That sorrow and trouble and wrong underies
Mirth aud LIES vanity.
IL auy would blame in seeing
AID Judging Earth AS I see her,
i pray them forgive me being
Cast In hard poor sphere
A sphere wlsr-an evei bread
il bitterly fought for. and gained,
Not al word or a nod of the head,
Bnt The sweating Of brows hard strained;
sphere wherein poverty pincbes
Each little baby face.
Where siouh hearted manhood ainches
When staring want i'm the face,
Where voices of hungry ones crying
Are heard ia the streets by day,
And until The Gigt II dying
Tie drunken ones cur-ing away.
How shall iaugl over life when each day
Brings back these scenes o er again?
How shall look over life gay.
When round me are toll and pain.
Forgive me. and think not tits SO premature
My grcying o. r life so divine;
But while ana ,reading the pat las of the poor
Their feelings shall also be mine.
So much for plaintive verse inspired b,
hard environments; but to show that Edmun,
Curtis has a brighter side, and the true poet
invention in creating happier conditions her
is a merry lay, and by . boy. too, who ha
never mounted wheel, except in imagination
BICYCLE SONG.
In the cooIness OF All evening
When ihe days hard work is done.
Aud tiie sun across the heavens
HIS allotted span has run:
Oh. tie sweetest hour of twilight
Tlleu 10 mount the nIoutliless sliced
Down the lae OF Summer yeriuro
Like "a specier gaunt to speed;
Down the roads where biushing roses
Ioveies, red or daintiest white.
Close their pearly petals gently
As they sceai TO say Goodnight;
And tire lowing OF the cattle
Comes FROM Ger the dist ant hill
Aud the lark abDve the pastures
It's impassioued Sung doth lriii.