 | My Sonnets |  |
[Is man made but for toil? “Yes,” do they say]
Is man made but for toil? “Yes,” do they sayWho know not labour; “nor should man rebel
“Against the will of him who bade him dwell
“In misery upon the earth;—his way”
(O God how weary!) “he should tread, away
“Thrusting all impious murmurings, that tell
“Of vain repinings.” If life be a hell
To all he holds most dear,—if every day
Up call her whom he loved, and loves, so well,
The sunshine in the gloom of his dark home,
Pain to endure and want, till eve farewell,
Bid to the world again,—if he must sell
His little ones' weak infancy for bread,
Should he yet be content, nor wish that he were dead?
November 20th, 1842.
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