A CRY FROM ARMENIA
ByEllen M. Mitchell
(The New Armenia)
Through all this golden sunshine there peals a mournful cry,Help, help us, or we perish—help, help us, or we die!Our babes are begging wildly for one small crust of bread,They faint, they die with hunger—is there a God o’erhead?Oh, haste with friendly succor, we are starving while we wait,To thousands sinking graveward your help may come too late;Our gaunt forms totter feebly; our lips grow wan and white,Oh, God, how hard it is to starve beneath a sky so bright!Your hearths are crowned with plenty, your homes with blessings rife;The scattered crumbs that strew your floor might save a human life;Oh, can you hear, unmoved and calm, of all our bitter need,Nor feel your quivering heart-strings with throbs of pity bleed?Dear brethren, would ye follow Christ, our starving children save,Keep back the shuddering feet that tread the margin of the grave;Send on your bounty quickly, with timely comfort haste,For human lives are ebbing out each moment that you waste.