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Show Looking for Work. Nellie Booth Bimmous. Out into the mist and the fitful rain, Thro' the streets of the uolsy town, He wanders once, and be walks again, And be searches up and down ; He is sick at heart with the ceaseless smart Of a hope that to long deferr'd But how can he rest from the weary quest Till his pitiful prayer Is heard?- Sucb a trifling boon he makes bold to ask, And so humble, when all Is said-Just said-Just the right to work at some lowly task,' And to earn his dally bread. But In vain he stops at the suioke-wreath a shops And the door of the crowded mill ; . In this eager race for an houest place, There are hundreds before him still. And slowly his courago began to wane-He wane-He would sink in nis mute despair But for Just one vision that haunts his brum And rankles and festers there. The vision wild of his wife and child, All pallid, and weak, and wan, And thoughts of tlieni so, m.tnelr helpless woo, Are the daggers that drive him oa. And softly he says to his throbbing heart, 'Ah, me! If I could but take Some place In the turbulent, bustling mart And work for my dear ones' sake! For they look in vain, from the depths of pain, For tho bread that I cannot earn, And I stand bes.de, with my hands quite Med, And 1 know not where to turn. "It Is false," ho thinks, In his Borrow then, "To boast of bis country's might, Since mothers, and children, and stalwart men Are hungry and cold tonight. And it we dare sue for aught to do The cars of the world are dumb. We are doom'd by fate but to watch and wait For the work that will not come. "Ah, yes," he says, "they are great and wise, Are the men who rule tbls laad. And t hey point to the storcfi of merchandise That we see on every hand. 'An oversupply,' they loudly cry ; Let the gates of toil be lock'd ; For the market teems with all wealth, It seems, And the channels ot trade are block'd.' "Ah, me! can the world be too full of food-Is food-Is there truth iu this selfish vaunt-While vaunt-While down In tne mid:rt of tae multitude We are dying tod iy of want! But how can we buy if no work comes n'gh, And how can they sell without? There's something amiss In it all, I wis, And I cannot make It out." And backward and forward, and to aud fro His tremulous footsteps roam, For how can he carry bis tale of woe To his desolate, dreary home? And tbe pitiless blast blows thick and fast ' As tne night comes sweeping down, And his heart feels cold as the mists that fold 'Kound the streets of the darksome town. |
