Coal and the coal mines

by Homer Greene

Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping,

We fall upon our faces trying to go,

And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping,

The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.

For all day we drag our burden tiring,

Through the coal dark underground,

Or all day we drive the wheels of iron

In the factories round and round.’

“‘How long,’ they say, ‘how long, O cruel nation!

Will you stand to move the world on a child’s heart,