Ernest Charles Jones

Earth's Burdens

"WHY groaning so, thou solid Earth!
    Tho' sprightly summer cheers?
Or is thine old heart dead to mirth?
    Or art thou bowed by years?"

Nor am I cold to summer's prime,—
    Nor knows my heart decay;
Nor am I bowed by countless time,
    Thou atom of a day!

I loved to list, when tree and tide
    Their gentle music made;
And, lightly, on my sunny side,
    To feel the plough and spade.

I loved to hold my liquid way
    Thro' floods of living light;
To kiss the sun's bright hand by day,
    And count the stars by night.

I loved to hear the children's glee
    Around the cottage-door;
And peasant's song right merrily
    The glebe come ringing o'er.

But man upon my back has lain
    Such heavy loads of stone,
I cannot grow the golden grain:
    'Tis therefore that I groan.

And where the evening dew sank mild
    Upon my quiet breast,
I feel the tear of the houseless child
    Break burning on my rest.

Oh! where are all the hallowed sweets,
    The harmless joys I gave?
The pavements of your sordid street,
    Are stones o'er virtue's grave!

And thick and fast as autumn-leaves
    My children drop away:
A gathering of unripened sheaves
    By Premature Decay.

Gaunt misery holds the cottage-door;
    Black sin supports the throne;
And slaves are slavish more and more:—
    'Tis therefore that I groan.