Kansas agitator. [volume] (Garnett, Kan.) 1890-1905, 1898-09-23
The Laborer'S Child.

|
every word that you have Said
Do not think these tears unnanly-they'r
the first ones have shed!
But they kind o. beat and pounded 'gainst
my aching heart and brain,
And they would not let me go = and
they gave me extra pain.
am lust a laboring man, sir, work tor
food and rags and sleep,
And hardly know the meaning OF the
| life slave to keep;
| But know when things are CHEEKY, or
my heart is made of lead;
know sorrow when seeit, and-lknow
my girl is dead!
No, she isn't much to look ADJUST
plainish bit Of clay,
OF the sort OF persisted children that die
round here every day;
And how she could break heart up,
you'd be slow to understand,
But she held mine, dear preacher, in that
little withcrcd hand.
There are lots of prettier children, with
face and form more fine
Let their parents love and pet them-but
this little one was mine!
There was no one else to cling to when
we were torn apart,
And it's dcath-this separation from the
idol of my heart.
| am lust an ignorant man, sir, OF the
lid tbot Jiua and 6elyrs
But I've learned that human beings cam
not stay in by themselves;
They will reach out after something, be
it good or be it bad.
And nv heart on hers had settled, and
the girl Twas all had!
Yes, it's solid, Mr Preacher, every word
that | have said
God loves children while they're living,
and adopts them when they're dead;
But | cannot help continuing do the
very best can,
That it wasn't God who took her. but
the selfishness of mani
Why she lay there faint and graspng
moaning for bit Of air,
Clicked and strangled by the foul breath
of the chmnies over there;
1t climbed in through every window and
crept under every door,
And tried to bar against it but she only
cholicd the more.
She would lie there with the old look
that poor children somehow get;
She had learned to use her patience, and
she did not cry or fret,
But would lift her little face up 30 all
piteous and SO fair,
And would whisper, 81 am dying for a
little breath OF air.
If she'd gone off through the sunlight,
'twouldnt seem so hard to me,
Or among the fresh cool breezes that
come sweeping from the sea;
But it's nothing less than murder when
my darling's every breath
Chokes and strangles with the poison
from that chimney swamp of DEATH
Oh, it's not enough these people own the
very ground we tread,
l ttllti lIN lnat w NiNuSi' '''' 1890
the tools that earn our bread;
They must place their blotted mortgage
on the air and on the sky,
And shut out our little heaven till our
children pine and die!
Yes, the air is pure and wholesome where
some babies coo and rest,
And they trim them out with ribbons,
and feed them on the BEST
But the love they bear is mockery to the
gracious God on high,
If to give these children Injuries some
one clse's children must died.
We must wear the cheapest clothing, and
our meals are scant and brief,
And, perhaps those fellows fancy there s
cheaper grade of grief;
But the people all around them, losing
children, friends and mates,
Can inform them that affection hasn't
any under rates.
I'm no grumbler of the methods of this
free and happy land,
And don't go round explaining things
! do not understand;
But know there's something Preacher
Gus in the workings of the law,
When we get a dose of poison out o
every breath we draw
have talked too much, good preacher
hope you won't be vexed,
But I'm going to make sermon will
that white face for text;
And I'll preach it and III speak it till
set the people wild
DER the heartlcss, reckless grasping o
the men who killed my child
BY WILL CARLETON.