Can I, who live for my baby’s smile,
Be vile, hopelessly vile?
O, great, broad, beautiful judgment day,
When dogmas of man are rent asunder,
And superstition is wiped away,
Will you plead for me, will you gently speak
For us who are voiceless and weak?
Plead for us, who must ever wonder?
Why we are hounded and held at bay—
We who can love, we who can pray: