Gerald Massey (Джеральд Масси)

At Eventide There Shall Be Light

Come and listen, sons of sorrow!
Penury's nurselings! born in tears;
Born to pick the scanty morsel
And to bear pride's wanton sneers:
Come and listen, while a brother
Sings his earnest, simple lay;
Listen, while a brother tells you
Of a brighter, happier, day.
He is but a low born peasant—
One who thinks that Love is gain,
And, with tender-hearted bosom,
Feels your hardships, shares your pain.
We are crush'd and trodden under
By imps of power, who long have torn
The fair rose of toilwon pleasure,
Flinging us the piercing thorn.
God in Heaven! they've robb'd the widow!
And, to glut their hellish lust,
By oppression, and by torture, 
Trod our, blood into the dust.
                                But wait awhile:
Kind Heaven looks down upon us!
Soon life shall wear a golden smile—
It shall not be all killing toil,
Nor age sink cheerless on us—
Merit shall rule, and mind be might:
"At eventide there shall be light."

Our forefathers plodded weary,
O'er life's sands, in simple faith
That learning was but for the highborn;
And thus they dropp'd asleep in death.
They are gone, peace to their slumbers!
But from them are springing forth
Men that arm to vanquish error;
Men of might and men of worth.
"And a change is coming o'er us—
Myriad souls for knowledge thirst—
Men must be no longer trampled,
Nor the poor be deemed accurst
Time shall come, when poverty
Shall not be accounted crime.
And its pale and withering offspring
Then shall taste of manhood's prime.
Oh, full many a tender blossom,
Denied in sun and air to bloom—
Children, steep'd in tears of fondness—
Hasten to the silent tomb.
Torn from mother's arms to labour,
Fragile limbs in childhood's day—
Soon the cherub lines of beauty
From their pallid cheeks decay;
And the cankerworm of death
Makes young hearts its early prey.
                                But wait awhile:
Kind Heaven looks down upon us!
Soon life shall wear a golden smile—
It shall not be all killing toil,
Nor age sink cheerless on us—
Merit shall rule, and mind be might:
"At eventide there shall be light."

Time is hastening, slow but surely,
When the hearths now desolate
Shall be the scenes of sweet contentment—
Love shall melt the heart of fate;
Homes shall form a shining circle,
Scatter'd friends one glorious whole,
And the tendrils of affection
Twine and bless the poor man's soul.
Then the laughing face of nature,
And its sun-lit, dew-fed flow'rs,
And the blossom-crown'd boughs waving,
And the birds in summer bow'rs—
These shall sing and make sweet music.
Long unseen, unheard, they've flourished;
But, when ignorance's chains are loosen'd,
Better feelings will be nourish'd.
But, while weighty spirits, phalanxa'd,
Strive for liberty and right,
Stand not apathetic, gazing;
Join and wage the bloodless fight!
Spurn the demon of intemperance,
Steel your hearts 'gainst tremulous fear;
Be ready, firm, united:
Wondrous change is drawing near.
                                Wait awhile:
Kind Heaven looks down upon us!
Soon life shall wears, golden smile—
It shall not be all killing toil,
Not age sink cheerless on us—
Merit shall rule, and mind be might:
"At eventide there shall be light."

                         A TRING PEASANT BOY.

1. Yet We Are Brothers Still
2. I Love England
3. Spring Is Coming
4. Now or Never
5. Ode to a Very Lovely Little Child

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