(A SONG OF THE UNEMPLOYED)
When first I came to town, resolvedTo fight my way alone,No prouder foot than mine e'er trodUpon the pavement stone;But I am one in thousands,And why should I repine?The pavement stones have broken springsIn stronger feet than mine.
I brought to aid me all the hopeAnd energy of youth;And in my heart I felt the strengthOf plain bucolic truth:The independence nourishedAmid the hills and trees--But, ah! the city hath a cureFor qualities like these.
I wonder oft how e'er I madeThe efforts that I made,For after three long weary yearsI taught myself a trade.And two more years and I was freeWith strength and hope elate,For "he that hath a trade," they say,"Hath also an estate."
I tramped the streets and looked for workAnd begged for work in vain,Until I recked not, though I ne'erMight touch my tools again.I tramped the streets despairing;My cheeks grew white and thin;I felt the pavement wearing throughThe leather, sock, and skin.
The bitter war goes on betweenThe idlers and the drones,Until the hearts of men grow coldAnd hard as pavement stones;But I am one amid the crowd,Then why should I repine?The pavement stones have broken springsIn stronger feet than mine.