 | Birds, Bees and Blossoms |  |
125
LONDON CHILDREN.
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing,”
Those spring sounds everywhere we meet,
Where the stagnant gutter's throwing
Poisoned air into the street.
How different from the fragrant nook,
Where they all stood in beauty blowing,
While mirrored in the murmuring brook,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”
Those spring sounds everywhere we meet,
Where the stagnant gutter's throwing
Poisoned air into the street.
How different from the fragrant nook,
Where they all stood in beauty blowing,
While mirrored in the murmuring brook,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”
Here doth the air a prison find,
By windows where no sunbeams play,
Where the freedom-loving wind
Doth fret, and cannot get away,
So round the houses sighs and moans.
Children are at each other throwing,
Cinders, rags, and dust, and bones,
While the court rings with “All-a-blowing.”
By windows where no sunbeams play,
Where the freedom-loving wind
Doth fret, and cannot get away,
So round the houses sighs and moans.
Children are at each other throwing,
Cinders, rags, and dust, and bones,
While the court rings with “All-a-blowing.”
I pity thee, poor ragged child,
That with round wondering eyes dost stand;
That never saw a flower grow wild,
Nor miles of daisies light the land:
Whose home is in that stifling alley
Where half-washed clothes on lines are blowing;
Who never saw on hill or valley
The summer flowers “All-a-growing.”
That with round wondering eyes dost stand;
That never saw a flower grow wild,
Nor miles of daisies light the land:
Whose home is in that stifling alley
Where half-washed clothes on lines are blowing;
Who never saw on hill or valley
The summer flowers “All-a-growing.”
He thinks by human hands the flowers
Were coloured, clipped, and fixed, and made:
The shop at which he looks for hours
Is where a flower maker's trade
Is carried on—he looks and crows
When the pale girl her goods is showing;
About God's flowers he nothing knows,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”
Were coloured, clipped, and fixed, and made:
126
Is where a flower maker's trade
Is carried on—he looks and crows
When the pale girl her goods is showing;
About God's flowers he nothing knows,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”
He groweth up a flower neglected,
To teach him right no one finds time;
And by our law he is rejected,
Until he plunges into crime.
While innocent none cries “God bless him;”
When heavy guilt his head is bowing,
Some jailer then perhaps may press him
To study God's works—“All-a-growing.”
To teach him right no one finds time;
And by our law he is rejected,
Until he plunges into crime.
While innocent none cries “God bless him;”
When heavy guilt his head is bowing,
Some jailer then perhaps may press him
To study God's works—“All-a-growing.”
Neglected in the sunless court,
He learns but thieving, swearing, lying;
Doth 'mid the dirty children sport,
Beside the door where some one's dying.
They nothing know of death or sorrow,
Beyond the pang when hunger's gnawing;
They never think about the morrow,
Nor where the flowers are “All-a-blowing.”
He learns but thieving, swearing, lying;
Doth 'mid the dirty children sport,
Beside the door where some one's dying.
They nothing know of death or sorrow,
Beyond the pang when hunger's gnawing;
They never think about the morrow,
Nor where the flowers are “All-a-blowing.”
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