Page:Songs of the workers 9th Edition.pdf/26

 

  There are ninety and nine that work and die,
 * In hunger and want and cold,

That one may revel in luxury,
 * And be lapped in the silken fold.

And ninety and nine in their hovels bare, And one in a palace of riches rare.

From the sweat of their brow the desert blooms
 * And the forest before them falls;

