Dull looks from out each weary face,
Cold words upon each little tongue--
Dead lives that know not childhoods grace,
Grown old before they can be young.

Hear, world of Mammon, brutal, bold,
Goring with life the maw of greed,
Measuring everything by gold;
The good deed with the evil deed--
The pangs of suffering childhoods care,
Now coined in coins to fill a purse,
These things shall haunt you everywhere,
And rest upon you for a curse!




=The Hymn of Labor=


The world was made with labor:
Strong fusing air and fire
Strove before the years of birth,
With awful deed and dire,
And wrought from primal chaos
Amidst the ancient night.
The seas and shores which are the earth,
And shapes of morning light.

Yea, bound in frenzied orbits,