Out from the smoke we have sent them,
Into the sunshine to play,
Out of the darkest of alleys
Into the brightness of day.
Friends they shall find in the orchard,
Butterflies, bird-nests, and cows;
Feasts they shall pluck from the fruit trees,
Palaces build in their boughs.
Voices that whined in a cellar,
Laughing, shall send a clear shout
When they have caught on the brook-bank
Splishety splash! their first trout.
Out of the smoke to protect them,
Mother has gone with her brood,
Glad to forget for the moment
Struggles for stockings and food.
Back to the smoke they'll be coming,
Out from the sunshine and play,
Back to the darkest of alleys,
Out of the brightness of day.
But if the winter bring hunger
And the cold rooms, discontent,
Courage will come as they vision
Summer days heavenly spent.
So from the smoke we must send them,
Into the sunshine to play,
Out of the darkest of alleys
Into the brightness of day.
|