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POEMS.
In chill roof chambers, bleak and bare,
Or the damp cellar's stifling air,
She who now sees, in mute despair,
Her children pine for food,
Shall feel the dews of gladness start
To lids long tearless, and shall part
The sweet loaf, with a grateful heart,
Among her thin, pale brood.
Dear, kindly Earth, whose breast we till!
Oh, for thy famished children, fill,
Where'er the sower walks,
Fill the rich ours that shade the mould
With grain for grain, a hundredfold,
To bend the sturdy stalks.
VIII.
Strew silently the fruitful seed,
As softly o'er the tilth yo tread,
For hands that delicately knead
The consecrated bread.
Or the damp cellar's stifling air,
She who now sees, in mute despair,
Her children pine for food,
Shall feel the dews of gladness start
To lids long tearless, and shall part
The sweet loaf, with a grateful heart,
Among her thin, pale brood.
Dear, kindly Earth, whose breast we till!
Oh, for thy famished children, fill,
Where'er the sower walks,
Fill the rich ours that shade the mould
With grain for grain, a hundredfold,
To bend the sturdy stalks.
VIII.
Strew silently the fruitful seed,
As softly o'er the tilth yo tread,
For hands that delicately knead
The consecrated bread.