Page:General William Booth enters into Heaven, and other poems.djvu/27

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Your dear ones are hidden away, As good as chained to the bed, Hid like the mad, or the dead:&mdash; The glories of endless years Drowned in their harlot-tears: The children they hoped to bear, Grandchildren strong and fair, The life for ages to be, Cut off like a blasted tree, Murdered in filth in a day, Somehow, by the merchant gay!

In liberty's name we cry For these women about to die.

What shall be said of a state Where traps for the white brides wait? Of sellers of drink who play The game for the extra pay? Who hope for the girl-child's fall? Of banks where hell's money is paid And Pharisees all afraid Of pandars that help them sin? When will our wrath begin?