I was a slave, because I could not see
That work for one another is our law;
I hated law. I work? I would be free!
Therefore the heavy law laid hands on me
And I was forced to work in slavery—
Until I saw.
I was a hireling, for I could not see
That work was natural as the breath I drew,
Natural? I would not work without the fee!
So nature laid her heavy hands on me
And I was forced by fear of poverty—
Until I knew.
Now I am free. Life is new-seen, recast
To work is to enjoy, to love, to live!
The shame and pain of slavery are past,
Dishonor and extortion follow fast,
I am not owned, nor hired, full-born at last,
My power I give.
The children in the Poor House
May die of many an ill,
But the Poor House does not profit
By their labor in the mill!
The children in the Orphanage
Wear raiment far from fine,
But no Orphanage is financed
By child labor in a mine.
The Cruel Law may send them
To Reform School's iron sway,
But it does not set small children
To hard labor by the day.
Only the Loving Family,
Which we so much admire,
Is willing to support itself
On little children's hire.
Only the Human Father,
A man, with power to think,
Will take from little children
The price of food and drink.
Only the Human Mother—
Degraded, helpless thing!
Will make her little children work
And live on what they bring!
No fledgling feeds the father-bird!
No chicken feeds the hen!
No kitten mouses for the cat—
This glory is for men.
We are the Wisest, Strongest Race—
Loud my our praise be sung!—
The only animal alive
That lives upon its young!
We make the poverty that takes
The lives of babies so.
We can awake! rebuild! remake!—
And let our children grow!
Why should the Stronger Sex require,
To hold him to his tasks,
Two medicines of varied fire?
The Weaker Vessel asks.
Hobbling between the rosy cup
And dry narcotic brown,—
One daily drug to stir him up
And one to soothe him down.
Get your work DONE, to remember,—
Nothing can take it away,
Then shall the sun of December
Shine brighter than goldenest May.
What is the Spring-time of flowers for?
Why does the sunshine come down?
What are the harvest-day hours for
But fruit? In the fruit is the crown.
Why should we grieve over losses?
Why should we fret over sin?
Death is the smallest of crosses
To the worker whose harvest is in.
Given a central sun—and a rolling world;
Into the light we whirl—and call it day;
Into the dark we turn—and call it night;
Glow of the dawn—glory of midday light—
Shadow of eve—rest of the fragrant night
And the dawn again!
Given a constant Power—and a passing frame;
Into the light we grow—and call it life;
Into the dark we go—and call It death;
Glory of youth—beauty and pride and power—
Shadow of age—rest of the final hour—
And are born again!
She beats upon her bolted door,
With faint weak hands;
Drearily walks the narrow floor;
Sullenly sits, blank walls before;
Despairing stands.
Life calls her, Duty, Pleasure, Gain—
Her dreams respond;
But the blank daylights wax and wane,
Dull peace, sharp agony, slow pain—
No hope beyond.
Till she comes a thought! She lifts her head,
The world grows wide!
A voice—as if clear words were said—
"Your door, o long imprisoned,
Is locked inside!"
Here is the earth: As big, as fresh, as clean,
As when it first grew green;
Our little spots of dirt walled in,
As easy to outgrow as sin,
In the swift, sweet, triumphal hour
Of nature's power.
We have not hurt the world: Still safe we rest
On that great loving breast.
Proud, patient mother! Strong and still!
Our little years of doing ill
Lost in her smooth, unmeasured time
Of life sublime.
We need not grieve, nor kneel our faults to own;
She has not even known
That we offended! Our misdeeds
She covers with one summer's weeds:
Her love we thought so long away—
Is ours to-day.
And here are we. Our bodies are as new
As ever Adam grew:
Replenished still with daily touch,
By the fair mother, loving much.
Glad living things! Still conscious part
Of earth's rich heart!
And for the soul which these fair bodies give
Increasing room to live—?
It is the same soul that was born
In the dim, lovely, unknown morn