Fettered Little ChildrenBy Mary E. Carbutt(In “The Progressive Woman.” Contemporary. Prominent California Club Woman.)
By Mary E. Carbutt
(In “The Progressive Woman.” Contemporary. Prominent California Club Woman.)
Oh blind and cruel nation,In your selfish race for wealth,You have fettered your young childrenWith chains that drag to death.To the wheel of toil you’ve bound them,In their young and tender years;And when they cry in anguish,You do not heed their tears.They drag out their days in sorrow;They grow old before their time;All the joy of their young childhoodYou have stifled by your crime.The children, wan and pallid,With wasted frames and weary hands,Turn in their defenseless sorrowTo the mothers of the land.You, fond and tender mothers,Happy children at your knee,Will you hear their silent pleading—Will you rise and set them free?
Oh blind and cruel nation,In your selfish race for wealth,You have fettered your young childrenWith chains that drag to death.To the wheel of toil you’ve bound them,In their young and tender years;And when they cry in anguish,You do not heed their tears.They drag out their days in sorrow;They grow old before their time;All the joy of their young childhoodYou have stifled by your crime.The children, wan and pallid,With wasted frames and weary hands,Turn in their defenseless sorrowTo the mothers of the land.You, fond and tender mothers,Happy children at your knee,Will you hear their silent pleading—Will you rise and set them free?
Oh blind and cruel nation,In your selfish race for wealth,You have fettered your young childrenWith chains that drag to death.
Oh blind and cruel nation,
In your selfish race for wealth,
You have fettered your young children
With chains that drag to death.
To the wheel of toil you’ve bound them,In their young and tender years;And when they cry in anguish,You do not heed their tears.
To the wheel of toil you’ve bound them,
In their young and tender years;
And when they cry in anguish,
You do not heed their tears.
They drag out their days in sorrow;They grow old before their time;All the joy of their young childhoodYou have stifled by your crime.
They drag out their days in sorrow;
They grow old before their time;
All the joy of their young childhood
You have stifled by your crime.
The children, wan and pallid,With wasted frames and weary hands,Turn in their defenseless sorrowTo the mothers of the land.
The children, wan and pallid,
With wasted frames and weary hands,
Turn in their defenseless sorrow
To the mothers of the land.
You, fond and tender mothers,Happy children at your knee,Will you hear their silent pleading—Will you rise and set them free?
You, fond and tender mothers,
Happy children at your knee,
Will you hear their silent pleading—
Will you rise and set them free?