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“How Many Poor!”
- Syracuse University Press
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118 | In This Our World But man is master most in power to change; He turned his forest to a cattle range; There was no foe to strive with—wherefore strive? No food to kill—he kept his food alive. Herding his dinner, see him sit and sing Serene, “The King is dead! Long live the King!” When man the shepherd, after years did pass, By nature’s increase grew, until the grass Failed to support the requisite supply Of cattle who must live lest he should die; Again a grieved observer might be led To pitifully say, “The King is dead!” But man, who turned his prey into a pet, To outwit hunger, was not baffled yet; He’d searched for grass so long he’d learned to praise it, And now that grass was short—why, he could raise it! His dinner sprouted with the happy spring Profuse, “The King is dead! Long live the King!” When man, the farmer, growing very great, Out of his children built the busy State, Those greedy children, to his loud alarm, Pinched all the profits off the old man’s farm, Killing the golden goose,28 and while he bled, Cried sage economists, “The King is dead!” But he, good sooth, was never more alive; He watched the pools and trusts around him strive, And when he’d learned the trick—it was not long— He organized himself—a million strong! Cornered the food supply! A Farmer’s Ring!29 Hurrah! “The King is dead! Long live the King!” “How Many Poor!” “Whene’er I take my walks abroad, how many poor I see!” Said pious Watts,30 and thanked the Lord that not so poor was he. I see so many poor to-day I think I’ll walk no more, And then the poor in long array come knocking at my door. The hungry poor! The dirty poor! The poor of evil smell! Yet even these we could endure if they were only well! But, O, this sick and crippled crew! The lame, the deaf, the blind! What can a Christian person do with these upon his mind! They keep diseases growing still like plants on greenhouse shelves, And they’re so generous they will not keep them to themselves; They propagate amazing crimes and vices scandalous, And then at most uncertain times they wreak the same on us! T H E M A RC H | 119 With charity we would prevent this poverty and woe, But find the more we’ve fondly spent, the more the poor do grow! We’ve tried by punishment full sore to mend the case they’re in; The more we punish them the more they sin, and sin, and sin! We make the punishment more kind, we give them wise reform, And they, with a contented mind, flock to our prisons warm! Then science comes with solemn air, and shows us social laws, Explaining how the poor are there from a purely natural cause. ’Tis natural for low and high to struggle and to strive; ’Tis natural for the worse to die and the better to survive. We swallowed all this soothing stuff, and easily were led To think if we were stern enough, the poor would soon be dead. But, O! in vain we squeeze, and grind, and drive them to the wall— For all our deadly work we find it does not kill them all! The more we struggle they survive! increase and multiply! There seem to be more poor alive, in spite of all that die! Whene’er I take my walks abroad how many poor I see, And eke at home! How long, O Lord! How long must this thing be! The Dead Level There is a fear among us as we strive, As we succeed or fail, or starve or revel, That there will be no pleasure left alive When we in peace and joy at last arrive At one dead level. And still the strangest part of this strange fear Is that it is not for ourselves we fear it. We wish to rise and gain; we look ahead To pleasant years of peace ere we are dead; We wish that peace, but wish no other near it! Say, does it spoil your pleasure in a town To have your neighbors’ gardens full of roses? Is your house dearer when its eye looks down On evil-smelling shanties rough and brown? Is your nose safer than...