Whose drink was gall and tears;
who, traitorously

Lashed in the face by blindfold Tyranny,
Yet murmured not.

Who walked ’mid frosts and tempests
Darkling and quite forgot;

No sun, no bread, no clothing,
Yet trusted God.

Who had a heap of straw to sleep on
Loathsome and horrible;

A lazar-house to die in,
Yet loving died.

THE WORKMAN

Around me rose the city
Stirring at the first glimpse of day;
The great city, that gives bread, that labours,
Rose, as the sun gleamed forth, to its gigantic toil.