The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith ... Revised by the Author: Coll. ed. |
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THE CRY OF THE MAIDEN
SHAREHOLDERS
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 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
THE CRY OF THE MAIDEN SHAREHOLDERS
Pity us, God! there are five of us here,
With threescore years on the youngest head,
Five of us waiting in sorrow and fear—
Well for our widowed one she is dead!
Day and night sitting, we've not laid a head
Down on a pillow this week and more;
Trembling has seized on us, shrinking and dread,
To hear the bell ring, or be seen at the door.
Pity us, pity, O God!
With threescore years on the youngest head,
Five of us waiting in sorrow and fear—
Well for our widowed one she is dead!
Day and night sitting, we've not laid a head
Down on a pillow this week and more;
Trembling has seized on us, shrinking and dread,
To hear the bell ring, or be seen at the door.
Pity us, pity, O God!
Pity us, God! when our father died,
His mind was at ease, for he left us “shares,”
And a roof o'er our head too; and side by side,
Happy and loving, we faced life's cares.
Then we were young, but now feeble and old,
And we never wronged any as far as we knew,
And we tried to do right with our silver and gold,
And the poor had their portion, the Church had its due.
Pity us, pity, O God!
His mind was at ease, for he left us “shares,”
And a roof o'er our head too; and side by side,
Happy and loving, we faced life's cares.
Then we were young, but now feeble and old,
And we never wronged any as far as we knew,
And we tried to do right with our silver and gold,
And the poor had their portion, the Church had its due.
Pity us, pity, O God!
368
Pity us, God! we would work if we could,
But suppler fingers must stitch and hem;
And who would give us our morsel of food,
Though we span and knitted all day for them?
We never knew work, but to keep ourselves neat,
And we never knew want, but our wants are small,
And there's bread in the house yet if we could eat,
But the sickness of sorrow is mixed with it all.
Pity us, pity, O God!
But suppler fingers must stitch and hem;
And who would give us our morsel of food,
Though we span and knitted all day for them?
We never knew work, but to keep ourselves neat,
And we never knew want, but our wants are small,
And there's bread in the house yet if we could eat,
But the sickness of sorrow is mixed with it all.
Pity us, pity, O God!
Pity us, God! must our little things go?
All—even our mother's things, cherished with care?
Must we leave the old house—the one house that we know?
But not for the poorhouse—Oh, surely not there?
Could they not wait a while?—we will not keep them long;
We would live on so little too, cheerful and brave;
But to leave the old house where old memories throng
For the poorhouse, oh! rather the peace of the grave,
Pity us, pity, O God!
All—even our mother's things, cherished with care?
Must we leave the old house—the one house that we know?
But not for the poorhouse—Oh, surely not there?
Could they not wait a while?—we will not keep them long;
We would live on so little too, cheerful and brave;
But to leave the old house where old memories throng
For the poorhouse, oh! rather the peace of the grave,
Pity us, pity, O God!
Pity us, God! as for those who have wrought
This terrible ruin so wide and deep,
Oh, how could they do it, and know it not?
How could they know it, and think or sleep?
But we would not, one of us, change, this day,
Our lot for theirs, for our hands are clean;
And the bankrupt soul has a darker way
Than the way of the honest poor ever has been.
Pity us, pity, O God!
This terrible ruin so wide and deep,
Oh, how could they do it, and know it not?
How could they know it, and think or sleep?
But we would not, one of us, change, this day,
Our lot for theirs, for our hands are clean;
And the bankrupt soul has a darker way
Than the way of the honest poor ever has been.
Pity us, pity, O God!
These Verses appeared in The Scotsman newspaper at the time of the failure of the City of Glasgow Bank. And now I reprint them, chiefly because I wish to make grateful acknowledgments to the unknown friends whose generosity enabled me greatly to help those poor ladies till their affairs were finally settled.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |