BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.
We are the children of one God.—
This truth I’ll not deny.
But you stand clad in fine array,
Have houses grand, while I
Must toil in grime from morn till night,
And oft am hungry, cold,
My loved ones living in a hut,
All for the want of gold.
You know not what it is to work;
Your measure is complete;
Aye running over; pressed hard down;
While I toil on in heat,
In cold, in wind, in rain, and snow,
With aching back and feet;
With pittance small, and that begrudged.—
You scorn me when we meet.
You prate of “Brotherhood of Man,”
But will you hold the plough?
Or till the soil, or plant the grain,
Or stack the hay in mow?
I see you smile my brother (?) man;
You are of higher birth.
You fix your eyes upon the stars,
While mine belong to earth.
Your children must to college go,
But mine must learn to work,
Must learn to wait on you and yours,
And never duty shirk.
Yet, brothers we, in very sooth,
Are children of one God;
And though you claim a higher birth,
We’re leveled ’neath the sod.