Elizabeth Barrett Browning - The Cry of the Children lyrics
[Elizabeth Barrett Browning - The Cry of the Children lyrics]
The Cry of the Children
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–61)
DO ye hear the children
Weeping, O my brothers
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young
Heads against their mothers
And that cannot stop their tears
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows
5 the young birds are chirping in the nest
The young fawns are playing with the shadows
The young flowers are blowing
Toward the west:
But the young, young children, O my brothers
They are weeping bitterly! 10
They are weeping in the
Playtime of the others
In the country of the free
Do you question the young
Children in the sorrow
Why their tears are falling so?
The old man may weep for his to-morrow 15
Which is lost in Long Ago
The old tree is leafless in the forest
The old year is ending in the frost
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest
The old hope is hardest to be lost: 20
But the young, young children, O my brothers
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms
Of their mothers, in our happy Fatherland?
They look up with their
Pale and sunken faces, 25
And their looks are sad to see
For the man’s hoary anguish draws and presses
Down the cheeks of infancy
"Your old earth, " they say, "is very dreary
Our young feet, " they say, "are very weak 30
Few paces have we taken, yet are weary
Our grave-rest is very far to seek:
Ask the aged why they weep
And not the children
For the outside earth is cold
And we young ones stand
Without, in our bewildering, 35
And the graves are for the old"
"True, " say the children, "it may happen
That we die before our time:
Little Alice died last year
Her grave is shapen
Like a snowball, in the rime 40
We looked into the pit prepared to take her:
Was no room for any work in the close clay!
From the sleep wherein she lieth
None will wake her
Crying, ‘Get up, little Alice! it is day’
If you listen by that grave
In sun and shower, 45
With your ear down, little Alice never cries:
Could we see her face, be sure
We should not know her
For the smile has time for
Growing in her eyes:
And merry go her moments
Lull’d and still’d in
The shroud by the kirk chime 50
It is good when it happens
" say the children
"That we die before our time"
Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have:
They are binding up their
Hearts away from breaking, 55
With a cerement from the grave
Go out, children, from the mine
And from the city
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do
Pluck your handfuls of
The meadow-cow-slips pretty, laugh aloud
To feel your fingers let them through! 60
But they answer
"Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?
Leave us quiet in the
Dark of the coal-shadows
From your pleasures fair and fine!
"For oh, " say the children, "we are weary
65 and we cannot run or leap
If we car’d for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping
We fall upon our faces, trying to go 70
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring
Through the coal dark, underground
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron 75
In the factories, round and round
"For all day, the wheels are droning, turning
Their wind comes in our faces
Till our hearts turn, our
Heads with pulses burning
And the walls turn in their places: 80
Turns the sky in the high
Window blank and reeling
Turns the long light that
Drops adown the wall
Turn the black flies that
Crawl along the ceiling
All are turning, all the day, and we with all
And all day, the iron wheels are droning, 85
And sometimes we could pray
‘O ye wheels, ’ moaning breaking out in a mad
‘Stop! be silent for to day!’"
Ay, be silent! Let them
Hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth! 90
Let them touch each other’s hands
In a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals:
Let them prove their living souls
Against the notion 95
That they live in you, or under you
O wheels!
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward
Grinding life down from it's mark
And the children’s souls, which
God is calling sunward
Spin on blindly in the dark 100
Now tell the poor young
Children, O my brothers
To look up to Him and pray
So the blessed One who
Blesseth all the others
Will bless them another day
They answer, "Who is God that
He should hear us, 105
While the rushing of the
Iron wheels is stirr’d? When we sob aloud
The human creatures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word
And we hear not
(for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door: 110
Is it likely God, with
Angels singing round Him
Hears our weeping any more?
"Two words, indeed, of praying we remember
And at midnight’s hour of harm
‘Our Father, ’ looking upward in the chamber
115 we say softly for a charm
We know no other words except ‘Our Father, ’
And we think that, in some
Pause of angels’ song
God may pluck them with the
Silence sweet to gather
And hold both within His right
Hand which is strong 120
‘Our Father!’ If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild)
Answer, smiling down the steep
World very purely
‘Come and rest with me, my child’
"But, no!" say the children, weeping faster
125 "He is speechless as a stone:
And they tell us, of His image is the master
Who commands us to work on
Go to!" say the children, "up in heaven
Dark, wheel-like
Turning clouds are all we find 130
Do not mock us grief has made us unbelieving:
We look up for God
But tears have made us blind"
Do you hear the children
Weeping and disproving
O my brothers, what ye preach?
For God’s possible is taught
By His world’s loving, 135
And the children doubt of each
And well may the children weep before you!
They are weary ere they run:
They have never seen the sunshine
Nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun 140
They know the grief of man
Without it's wisdom
They sink in man’s despair, without it's calm
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm:
Are worn as if with age
Yet unretrievingly 145
The harvest of it's memories cannot reap
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly
Let them weep! let them weep!
They look up with their
Pale and sunken faces
And their look is dread to see, 150
For they mind you of their
Angels in high places
With eyes turned on Deity
"How long, " they say, "how
Long, O cruel nation
Will you stand, to move the
World, on a child’s heart
Stifle down with a mailed
Heel it's palpitation, 155
And tread onward to your
Throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward, O gold heaper
And your purple shows your path!
But the child’s sob in
The silence curses deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath" 160
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–61)
DO ye hear the children
Weeping, O my brothers
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young
Heads against their mothers
And that cannot stop their tears
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows
5 the young birds are chirping in the nest
The young fawns are playing with the shadows
The young flowers are blowing
Toward the west:
But the young, young children, O my brothers
They are weeping bitterly! 10
They are weeping in the
Playtime of the others
In the country of the free
Do you question the young
Children in the sorrow
Why their tears are falling so?
The old man may weep for his to-morrow 15
Which is lost in Long Ago
The old tree is leafless in the forest
The old year is ending in the frost
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest
The old hope is hardest to be lost: 20
But the young, young children, O my brothers
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms
Of their mothers, in our happy Fatherland?
They look up with their
Pale and sunken faces, 25
And their looks are sad to see
For the man’s hoary anguish draws and presses
Down the cheeks of infancy
"Your old earth, " they say, "is very dreary
Our young feet, " they say, "are very weak 30
Few paces have we taken, yet are weary
Our grave-rest is very far to seek:
Ask the aged why they weep
And not the children
For the outside earth is cold
And we young ones stand
Without, in our bewildering, 35
And the graves are for the old"
"True, " say the children, "it may happen
That we die before our time:
Little Alice died last year
Her grave is shapen
Like a snowball, in the rime 40
We looked into the pit prepared to take her:
Was no room for any work in the close clay!
From the sleep wherein she lieth
None will wake her
Crying, ‘Get up, little Alice! it is day’
If you listen by that grave
In sun and shower, 45
With your ear down, little Alice never cries:
Could we see her face, be sure
We should not know her
For the smile has time for
Growing in her eyes:
And merry go her moments
Lull’d and still’d in
The shroud by the kirk chime 50
It is good when it happens
" say the children
"That we die before our time"
Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have:
They are binding up their
Hearts away from breaking, 55
With a cerement from the grave
Go out, children, from the mine
And from the city
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do
Pluck your handfuls of
The meadow-cow-slips pretty, laugh aloud
To feel your fingers let them through! 60
But they answer
"Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?
Leave us quiet in the
Dark of the coal-shadows
From your pleasures fair and fine!
"For oh, " say the children, "we are weary
65 and we cannot run or leap
If we car’d for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping
We fall upon our faces, trying to go 70
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring
Through the coal dark, underground
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron 75
In the factories, round and round
"For all day, the wheels are droning, turning
Their wind comes in our faces
Till our hearts turn, our
Heads with pulses burning
And the walls turn in their places: 80
Turns the sky in the high
Window blank and reeling
Turns the long light that
Drops adown the wall
Turn the black flies that
Crawl along the ceiling
All are turning, all the day, and we with all
And all day, the iron wheels are droning, 85
And sometimes we could pray
‘O ye wheels, ’ moaning breaking out in a mad
‘Stop! be silent for to day!’"
Ay, be silent! Let them
Hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth! 90
Let them touch each other’s hands
In a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals:
Let them prove their living souls
Against the notion 95
That they live in you, or under you
O wheels!
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward
Grinding life down from it's mark
And the children’s souls, which
God is calling sunward
Spin on blindly in the dark 100
Now tell the poor young
Children, O my brothers
To look up to Him and pray
So the blessed One who
Blesseth all the others
Will bless them another day
They answer, "Who is God that
He should hear us, 105
While the rushing of the
Iron wheels is stirr’d? When we sob aloud
The human creatures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word
And we hear not
(for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door: 110
Is it likely God, with
Angels singing round Him
Hears our weeping any more?
"Two words, indeed, of praying we remember
And at midnight’s hour of harm
‘Our Father, ’ looking upward in the chamber
115 we say softly for a charm
We know no other words except ‘Our Father, ’
And we think that, in some
Pause of angels’ song
God may pluck them with the
Silence sweet to gather
And hold both within His right
Hand which is strong 120
‘Our Father!’ If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild)
Answer, smiling down the steep
World very purely
‘Come and rest with me, my child’
"But, no!" say the children, weeping faster
125 "He is speechless as a stone:
And they tell us, of His image is the master
Who commands us to work on
Go to!" say the children, "up in heaven
Dark, wheel-like
Turning clouds are all we find 130
Do not mock us grief has made us unbelieving:
We look up for God
But tears have made us blind"
Do you hear the children
Weeping and disproving
O my brothers, what ye preach?
For God’s possible is taught
By His world’s loving, 135
And the children doubt of each
And well may the children weep before you!
They are weary ere they run:
They have never seen the sunshine
Nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun 140
They know the grief of man
Without it's wisdom
They sink in man’s despair, without it's calm
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm:
Are worn as if with age
Yet unretrievingly 145
The harvest of it's memories cannot reap
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly
Let them weep! let them weep!
They look up with their
Pale and sunken faces
And their look is dread to see, 150
For they mind you of their
Angels in high places
With eyes turned on Deity
"How long, " they say, "how
Long, O cruel nation
Will you stand, to move the
World, on a child’s heart
Stifle down with a mailed
Heel it's palpitation, 155
And tread onward to your
Throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward, O gold heaper
And your purple shows your path!
But the child’s sob in
The silence curses deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath" 160
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