Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/720

 And we stitch'd and stitch'd away In the thick smoke of our breath. Poor worn-out slops were we, With hearts as heavy as lead; But "Patience! she's coming!" said he; "Courage, boys! wait and see! Freedom's ahead!"

But Tom was little and weak, The hard hours shook him; Hollower grew his cheek, And when he began to speak The coughing took him. And at last the cheery sound Of his voice among us ceased, And we made a purse, all round, That he mightn't starve, at least. His pain was awful to see, Yet there, on his poor sick-bed, "She's coming, in spite of me! Courage, and wait!" cried he; "Freedom's ahead!"

Ay, now Tom Dunstan's cold, All life seems duller; There's a blight on young and old, And our talk has lost the bold Red-republican color. But we see a figure gray, And we hear a voice of death, And the tallow burns all day, And we stitch and stitch away In the thick smoke of our breath;