The people, discontented, bitter, pale,—
And murmur of oppression, pain, and pity,—
The old-time wail.
And weary Dives, jaded in his pleasures,
Finding the endless clamor tiresome, stale—
Would gladly give a part of his wide treasures
To quiet that old wail.
Old? Yes, as old as Egypt. Sounding lowly
From naked millions, in the desert hid,
Starving and bleeding while they builded, slowly,