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(THE SACK OF FLOUR.)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

(THE SACK OF FLOUR.)

Guilty, Judge, and I own the crime—
I slipped away with a sack of flour:
They nabbed me just in the nick of time—
I'd have had it home in half an hour.
Only, the constable on the hill,
Knew that I must have jumped the bill;
Knew as well as he could, that I
Hadn't the money with which to buy.
“Larceny”? that's the proper word;
There's never a crime but Law can name.
Only, I wonder if Law has heard
That any one but the thief's to blame?
Say: did the constable on the hill
Tell you about the closed-up mill?
Tell you of men that must beg or steal,
To give their babies and wives a meal?
Yes, I have begged—and I'll tell you how:
I walked the roads and the fields and lanes,
And asked for work with a pleading brow,
And came back empty for all my pains!

123

Say: did the constable on the hill
Tell you the wheels of trade were still?
Tell you, when work was dull or dead,
The wife and the child might go unfed?
Guilty, Judge—let the law be paid;
But if you had children four or five,
As pretty as God has ever made,
And lacked the food to keep them alive,
Lacked the method but not the will,
Their cries of hunger to stop and still—
And then saw oceans of food in view—
For God's sake tell me, what would you do?
Say! if you had a wife whose heart
Had fed your own for a score of years,
And never a moment walked apart
From all of your griefs and hopes and fears,
And now in that faithful bosom had grown
A little life that was part your own,
And hunger harrowed them through and through,
For God's sake tell me, what would you do?
Dollars by thousands stacked away—
Harvests rotting in barn and shed—
Silks and ribbons and fine display—
And children crying for lack of bread!
Wealth and Famine are hand in hand,
Making the tour of a heart-sick land;
Half of the country's future weal
Crushed by the Present's selfish heel!
Guilty, Judge—and I own the crime;
Put me in prison without delay—

124

Only—please work me double time,
And send my family half the pay!
And tell my loved ones, if ever they ask
That I was working my gloomy task,
Not for pleasure or money or gem—
But just for the love that I had for them.