My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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OUR FATHERS ARE PRAYING FOR PAUPER-PAY. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
OUR FATHERS ARE PRAYING FOR PAUPER-PAY.
Smitten stones will talk with fiery tongues,
And the worm, when trodden, will turn;
But, Cowards, ye cringe to the cruellest wrongs,
And answer with never a spurn.
Then torture, O Tyrants, the spiritless drove,
Old England's Helots will bear:
There's no hell in their hatred, no God in their love,
No shame in their deepest despair.
For our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
And the worm, when trodden, will turn;
But, Cowards, ye cringe to the cruellest wrongs,
And answer with never a spurn.
Then torture, O Tyrants, the spiritless drove,
Old England's Helots will bear:
There's no hell in their hatred, no God in their love,
No shame in their deepest despair.
For our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
242
The Tearless are drunk with our tears: have they driven
The God of the poor man mad?
For we weary of waiting the help of Heaven,
And the battle goes still with the bad.
O but death for death, and life for life,
It were better to take and give,
With hand to throat, and with knife to knife,
Than die out as thousands live!
Our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
The God of the poor man mad?
For we weary of waiting the help of Heaven,
And the battle goes still with the bad.
O but death for death, and life for life,
It were better to take and give,
With hand to throat, and with knife to knife,
Than die out as thousands live!
Our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
Fearless and few were the Heroes of old,
Who played the peerless part:
We are fifty-fold, but the gangrene Gold
Is eating out England's heart.
With their faces to danger, like Freemen they fought,
With their daring, all heart and hand:
And the thunder-deed followed the lightning-thought,
When they stood for their own good land.
Our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
Who played the peerless part:
We are fifty-fold, but the gangrene Gold
Is eating out England's heart.
With their faces to danger, like Freemen they fought,
With their daring, all heart and hand:
And the thunder-deed followed the lightning-thought,
When they stood for their own good land.
Our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
When the heart of one half the world doth beat
Akin to the brave and the true,
And the tramp of Democracy's earth-quaking feet
Goes thrilling the wide world through,—
We should not be crouching in darkness and dust,
And dying like slaves in the night;
But big with the might of the inward “must,”
We should battle for Freedom and Right!
Our Fathers are praying for the Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
Akin to the brave and the true,
And the tramp of Democracy's earth-quaking feet
Goes thrilling the wide world through,—
243
And dying like slaves in the night;
But big with the might of the inward “must,”
We should battle for Freedom and Right!
Our Fathers are praying for the Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
What do we lack, that the Ruffian Wrong
Should starve us 'mid heaps of gold?
We have brains as broad, we have arms as strong
As our Captors, if only as bold!
Will a thousand years more of meek suffering school
Your lives to a sterner bravery?
No! down and down with their Robber Rule,
And up from the land of slavery!
Our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
Should starve us 'mid heaps of gold?
We have brains as broad, we have arms as strong
As our Captors, if only as bold!
Will a thousand years more of meek suffering school
Your lives to a sterner bravery?
No! down and down with their Robber Rule,
And up from the land of slavery!
Our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay,
Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white;
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day,
And our Daughters his Slaves by night.
| My Lyrical Life | |