THE VOICE OF THE POOR.
WWAS sorrow ever like to our sorrow?Oh, God above!Will our night never change into a morrowOf joy and love?A deadly gloom is on us waking, sleeping,Like the darkness at noontide,That fell upon the pallid mother, weepingBy the Crucified.
WWAS sorrow ever like to our sorrow?Oh, God above!Will our night never change into a morrowOf joy and love?A deadly gloom is on us waking, sleeping,Like the darkness at noontide,That fell upon the pallid mother, weepingBy the Crucified.
WWAS sorrow ever like to our sorrow?Oh, God above!Will our night never change into a morrowOf joy and love?A deadly gloom is on us waking, sleeping,Like the darkness at noontide,That fell upon the pallid mother, weepingBy the Crucified.
W
WAS sorrow ever like to our sorrow?Oh, God above!Will our night never change into a morrowOf joy and love?A deadly gloom is on us waking, sleeping,Like the darkness at noontide,That fell upon the pallid mother, weepingBy the Crucified.
Before us die our brothers of starvation:Around are cries of famine and despairWhere is hope for us, or comfort, or salvation—Where—oh! where?If the angels ever hearken, downward bendingThey are weeping, we are sure,At the litanies of human groans ascendingFrom the crushed hearts of the poor.
Before us die our brothers of starvation:Around are cries of famine and despairWhere is hope for us, or comfort, or salvation—Where—oh! where?If the angels ever hearken, downward bendingThey are weeping, we are sure,At the litanies of human groans ascendingFrom the crushed hearts of the poor.
Before us die our brothers of starvation:Around are cries of famine and despairWhere is hope for us, or comfort, or salvation—Where—oh! where?If the angels ever hearken, downward bendingThey are weeping, we are sure,At the litanies of human groans ascendingFrom the crushed hearts of the poor.
Before us die our brothers of starvation:Around are cries of famine and despairWhere is hope for us, or comfort, or salvation—Where—oh! where?If the angels ever hearken, downward bendingThey are weeping, we are sure,At the litanies of human groans ascendingFrom the crushed hearts of the poor.
When the human rests in love upon the human,All grief is light;But who bends one kind glance to illumineOur life-long night?The air around is ringing with their laughter—God has only made the rich to smile;But we—in our rags, and want, and woe—we follow after,Weeping the while.
When the human rests in love upon the human,All grief is light;But who bends one kind glance to illumineOur life-long night?The air around is ringing with their laughter—God has only made the rich to smile;But we—in our rags, and want, and woe—we follow after,Weeping the while.
When the human rests in love upon the human,All grief is light;But who bends one kind glance to illumineOur life-long night?The air around is ringing with their laughter—God has only made the rich to smile;But we—in our rags, and want, and woe—we follow after,Weeping the while.
When the human rests in love upon the human,All grief is light;But who bends one kind glance to illumineOur life-long night?The air around is ringing with their laughter—God has only made the rich to smile;But we—in our rags, and want, and woe—we follow after,Weeping the while.
And the laughter seems but uttered to deride us.When—oh! whenWill fall the frozen barriers that divide usFrom other men?Will ignorance for ever thus enslave us?Will misery for ever lay us low?All are eager with their insults, but to save us,None, none, we know
And the laughter seems but uttered to deride us.When—oh! whenWill fall the frozen barriers that divide usFrom other men?Will ignorance for ever thus enslave us?Will misery for ever lay us low?All are eager with their insults, but to save us,None, none, we know
And the laughter seems but uttered to deride us.When—oh! whenWill fall the frozen barriers that divide usFrom other men?Will ignorance for ever thus enslave us?Will misery for ever lay us low?All are eager with their insults, but to save us,None, none, we know
And the laughter seems but uttered to deride us.When—oh! whenWill fall the frozen barriers that divide usFrom other men?Will ignorance for ever thus enslave us?Will misery for ever lay us low?All are eager with their insults, but to save us,None, none, we know
We never knew a childhood's mirth and gladness,Nor the proud heart of youth, free and brave;Oh! a deathlike dream of wretchedness and sadness,Is life's weary journey to the grave.Day by day we lower sink and lower,Till the Godlike soul within,Falls crushed, beneath the fearful demon powerOf poverty and sin.
We never knew a childhood's mirth and gladness,Nor the proud heart of youth, free and brave;Oh! a deathlike dream of wretchedness and sadness,Is life's weary journey to the grave.Day by day we lower sink and lower,Till the Godlike soul within,Falls crushed, beneath the fearful demon powerOf poverty and sin.
We never knew a childhood's mirth and gladness,Nor the proud heart of youth, free and brave;Oh! a deathlike dream of wretchedness and sadness,Is life's weary journey to the grave.Day by day we lower sink and lower,Till the Godlike soul within,Falls crushed, beneath the fearful demon powerOf poverty and sin.
We never knew a childhood's mirth and gladness,Nor the proud heart of youth, free and brave;Oh! a deathlike dream of wretchedness and sadness,Is life's weary journey to the grave.Day by day we lower sink and lower,Till the Godlike soul within,Falls crushed, beneath the fearful demon powerOf poverty and sin.
So we toil on, on with fever burningIn heart and brain;So we toil on, on through bitter scorning,Want, woe, and pain:We dare not raise our eyes to the blue heaven,Or the toil must cease—We date not breathe the fresh air God has givenOne hour in peace.
So we toil on, on with fever burningIn heart and brain;So we toil on, on through bitter scorning,Want, woe, and pain:We dare not raise our eyes to the blue heaven,Or the toil must cease—We date not breathe the fresh air God has givenOne hour in peace.
So we toil on, on with fever burningIn heart and brain;So we toil on, on through bitter scorning,Want, woe, and pain:We dare not raise our eyes to the blue heaven,Or the toil must cease—We date not breathe the fresh air God has givenOne hour in peace.
So we toil on, on with fever burningIn heart and brain;So we toil on, on through bitter scorning,Want, woe, and pain:We dare not raise our eyes to the blue heaven,Or the toil must cease—We date not breathe the fresh air God has givenOne hour in peace.
We must toil, though the light of life is burning,Oh, how dim!We must toil on our sick bed, feebly turningOur eyes to Him,Who alone can hear the pale lip faintly saying,With scarce moved breathWhile the paler hands, uplifted, aid the praying—"Lord, grant usDeath!"
We must toil, though the light of life is burning,Oh, how dim!We must toil on our sick bed, feebly turningOur eyes to Him,Who alone can hear the pale lip faintly saying,With scarce moved breathWhile the paler hands, uplifted, aid the praying—"Lord, grant usDeath!"
We must toil, though the light of life is burning,Oh, how dim!We must toil on our sick bed, feebly turningOur eyes to Him,Who alone can hear the pale lip faintly saying,With scarce moved breathWhile the paler hands, uplifted, aid the praying—"Lord, grant usDeath!"
We must toil, though the light of life is burning,Oh, how dim!We must toil on our sick bed, feebly turningOur eyes to Him,Who alone can hear the pale lip faintly saying,With scarce moved breathWhile the paler hands, uplifted, aid the praying—"Lord, grant usDeath!"