THE UNEMPLOYED.
An Appeal.
We've got no work to do-o-o!
Our homes are cold as the wintry air.
Our stomachs are empty, booho-o-o! booho-o-o!
And like Mother Hubbard our cupboards are bare.
We're frozen out! Though our hearts are stout,
And we're full of industry, zeal and thrift;
There is not the chance of a job about,
Through the hardened earth and the chilling drift.
We do not howl as we prowl the street,
With ruddy faces and bodies plump;
Our voices though dulled by the cold are sweet,
But the snow-spread lawn, and the frozen pump,
The ice-bound pond, and the highway hard,
Are all our foes. And no Union door,
No Refuge warm is for us unbarred;
We, we are the helpless deserving poor:
So Christians thoughtful, gentle and good,
Warm by fire-side or snug in bed,
Be sure your bounty, of broken food,
For us on pathways and lawns is spread;
For we're poor, and hungry, and frozen out.
We may not thank you in eloquent words;
But litter your welcome largess about,
And though cockney carols we cannot shout
We'll gather on branch and on gutter-spout,
And chirrup our thanks, we poor London Birds!!!
