Classic Poem

We are lowly — very lowly,
Misfortune is our crime;
We have been trodden under foot
From all recorded time.
A yoke upon our necks is laid,
A burden to endure;
To suffer is our legacy,
The portion of the poor!

We are lowly — very lowly,
And scorned from day to day;
Yet we have something of our own
Power cannot take away.
By tyrants we are toiled to death —
By cold and hunger killed;
But peace is in our hearts, it speaks
Of duties all fulfilled!

We are lowly — very lowly,
Nor house nor land have we;
But there's a heritage for us
While we have eyes to see.
They cannot hide the lovely stars,
Words in creation's book,
Although they hold their fields and lanes
Corrupted by our look!

We are lowly — very lowly, —
And yet the fairest flowers
That by the wayside raise their eyes, —
Thank God, they still are ours!
Ours is the streamlet's mellow voice,
And ours the common dew;
We still dare gaze on hill and plain,
And field and meadow too!

We are lowly — very lowly, —
But when the cheerful spring
Comes forth with flowers upon her feet
To hear the throstle sing,
Although we dare not seek the shade
Where haunt the forest deer —
The waving leaves we still can see,
The hymning birds can hear!

We are lowly — very lowly,
Our hedgerow paths are gone
Where woodbines laid their fairy hands
The hawthorn's breast upon,
Yet slender mercies still are left, —
And heaven doth endure,
And hears the prayers that upward rise
From the afflicted poor!