Classic Poem

The children in the Poor House
May die of many an ill,
But the Poor House does not profit
By their labor in the mill.

The children in the Orphanage
Wear raiment far from fine,
But no Orphanage is financed
By child labor in a mine.

Only the loving family
Which we so much admire
Is willing to support itself
By little children's hire

Only the human father,
A man, with power to think,
Will take from little children
The price of food and drink

Only the human mother,
Degraded helpless thing,
Will make her little children work
And live on what they bring

No fledgling feeds the father-bird,
No chicken feeds the hen,
No kitten mouses for the cat,
This glory is for men

We are the wisest strongest race,
Long may our praise be sung,
The only animal alive
That feeds upon its young

We make the poverty that takes
The lives of children so,
We can awake, rebuild, remake,
And let our children grow