 | My Lyrical Life |  |
110
AT THE PRISON-DOOR.
Right to the other side o' the World a yell
Rang round, so brutal, we could hardly tell
Whether it rose from England or from Hell.
Rang round, so brutal, we could hardly tell
Whether it rose from England or from Hell.
“Great God!” they cried, “what has this Blabber done?
Blazoned the sin of Modern Babylon
To all beneath the never-setting sun!
Blazoned the sin of Modern Babylon
To all beneath the never-setting sun!
“Why, 'tis the Law of Let-Alone that we,
Who are rich, should grind the poor, and trade be free;
We pay, and pluck the fruits of Poverty.
Who are rich, should grind the poor, and trade be free;
We pay, and pluck the fruits of Poverty.
“How shocking! he would strip us Shirt and Smock,
And show us naked in the Public Dock!”
'Twas shocking to the Knaves who need the shock!
And show us naked in the Public Dock!”
'Twas shocking to the Knaves who need the shock!
The gorge of London rose; but not to thwart
The monsters who had made us sick at heart,—
Rose against Him who took the Children's part!
The monsters who had made us sick at heart,—
Rose against Him who took the Children's part!
Time-honoured Institutions were at stake;
The Brothels so long Sacred to the Rake;
The Vested Interests began to quake.
The Brothels so long Sacred to the Rake;
The Vested Interests began to quake.
The Cynics proffered him Don Quixote's crown,
The Libertines their pity, Fools their frown;
Press-gang and Judges kicked him when he was down!
The Libertines their pity, Fools their frown;
Press-gang and Judges kicked him when he was down!
But 'twas the voice of Truth we know, they know,
The Rowdy Rich who rushed to strike him low,
Or shut his mouth with one back-handed blow;
The Rowdy Rich who rushed to strike him low,
Or shut his mouth with one back-handed blow;
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And Truth shall yet be free, nor vainly strive
For utterance, bound and dumbly buried alive;
Free from the gag, the manacle, and gyve.
For utterance, bound and dumbly buried alive;
Free from the gag, the manacle, and gyve.
The Curs and Cowards of the Cockney Press
May call it a great failure; nevertheless
'Tis the Foreshadow of as great Success!
May call it a great failure; nevertheless
'Tis the Foreshadow of as great Success!
The Labourers wake at last from their long sleep;
The Waters rise around us that shall sweep
This foulness with their Deluge to the deep.
The Waters rise around us that shall sweep
This foulness with their Deluge to the deep.
Stead struck his blow and failed and fell, you say.
Such was Their failure who have paved a way
With their dead bodies for our feet to-day.
Such was Their failure who have paved a way
With their dead bodies for our feet to-day.
Look you! this Man is of another mould
Than you who sell your little souls for gold,
Or, where you have none, are in body sold!
Than you who sell your little souls for gold,
Or, where you have none, are in body sold!
And some are Chosen, born and bound, to be
Torch-bearers; they who set the sufferers free
Must show us sights men do not want to see.
Torch-bearers; they who set the sufferers free
Must show us sights men do not want to see.
In devious ways Detectives have to work
And tramp the mire and hide in midnight mirk,
If they would catch the Lawless where they lurk!
And tramp the mire and hide in midnight mirk,
If they would catch the Lawless where they lurk!
Though not in the Salvation Army's van,
Nor of the Shut-eyed Faith, some of us can
Respect a Worker, recognize a Man.
Nor of the Shut-eyed Faith, some of us can
Respect a Worker, recognize a Man.
Honour to him, we cry, who sought to save
The Girls dragged down our gutters to the grave!
For him our plaudits ring, our welcomes wave.
The Girls dragged down our gutters to the grave!
For him our plaudits ring, our welcomes wave.
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And so we greet him at the Prison-porch,
With hearts that beat the music of his march,
And bosoms lifted for a Triumph-Arch.
With hearts that beat the music of his march,
And bosoms lifted for a Triumph-Arch.
| My Lyrical Life | |