Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/163

 Out of this silence, passionate Sounds a deeper, a wilder chord. If sound be heard through the narrow grate, Have pity on these my comrades, Lord!

Hark, that wail of the distant breeze, Piercing ever the close-barred gate, Fraught with torturing memories Of eyes that kindle and lips that mate. Ah, by the loved ones desolate, Whose anguish never can pen record, If thou be truly compassionate, Have pity on these my comrades, Lord!

These are pawns that the hand of Fate Careless sweeps from the checker-board. Thou that know'st if the game be straight, Have pity on these my comrades, Lord!

(See page 135)

So long as people, being ill-governed, suffer from hunger, criminals will never disappear. It is extremely unkind to punish those who, being sufferers from hunger, are compelled to violate laws.