Come, shoulder to shoulder ere the world grows older! Help lies in nought but thee and me; Hope is before us, and the long years that bore us Bore leaders more than men may be. Let dead hearts tarry and trade and marry, To bring the bright new world to birth. Come, shoulder to shoulder ere earth grows older! The Cause spreads over land and sea; Now the world shaketh, and fear awaketh, 1884. 32 36 40 William Morris. THE SONG OF THE SHIRT WITH fingers weary and worn, Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt." 8 The Song of the Shirt "Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work-work-work, Till the stars shine through the roof! It's, Oh! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work! "Work-work-work 66 Till the brain begins to swim; Till the eyes are heavy and dim! And sew them on in a dream! Oh, Men, with Sisters dear! Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch-stitch-stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a Shirt. "But why do I talk of Death? That Phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own 16 24 32 It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep; Oh, God! that bread should be so dear, "Work-work-work! My labour never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, That shattered roof-and this naked floor- And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank "Work-work-work! From weary chime to chime, Work-work-work As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band, 40 48 Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd, As well as the weary hand. "Work—work—work, In the dull December light, And work-work-work, When the weather is warm and bright-While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling As if to show me their sunny backs 56 64 The Song of the Shirt "Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweetWith the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet, For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal! "Oh! but for one short hour! A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, A little weeping would ease my heart, My tears must stop, for every drop With fingers weary and worn, Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,— Would that its tone could reach the Rich!She sang this "Song of the Shirt!" 1843. Thomas Hood. 72 80 88 THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, west But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly! They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the free. Do you question the young children in the sorrow Why their tears are falling so? The old man may weep for his to-morrow The old tree is leafless in the forest, The old year is ending in the frost, The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, The old hope is hardest to be lost: 12 |