Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/204

202 They talk to us of pride and power, Of Empire vast beyond the sea; As here beside my hearth I cower, What mean such words as these to me? Oh, will they lift the clouds that low’r, Or light my load in years to be?

What matters it to us poor folk? Who win or lose, it’s we who pay. Oh, I would laugh beneath the yoke If I had him at home to-day; One’s home before one’s country comes: Aye, so a million women say.

“Hush, Annie dear, don’t sorrow so.” (How can I tell her?) “See, we’ll light With tiny star of purest glow Each little candle pink and white.” (They make mistakes. I’ll tell myself I did not read that name aright.) Come, dearest one; come, let us pray Beside our gleaming Christmas-tree; Just fold your little hands and say These words so softly after me: “God pity mothers in distress, And little children fatherless.” ''“God pity mothers in distress, ''And little children fatherless.”