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POOR MAN'S LABOR, by             Poem Explanation         Poet's Biography
First Line: My mother sighed, the stream of pain


MY mother sighed, the stream of pain
Flow'd fast and chilly o'er her brow;
My father pray'd, nor pray'd in vain;
Sweet Mercy, cast a glance below.
My husband, dear, the sufferer cried,
My pains are o'er, behold your son.
Thank heaven, sweet partner,- he replied,
The poor boy's labour's then begun."


Alas! the hapless life she gave,
By fate was doom'd to cost her own;
For soon she found an early grave,
Nor stay'd her partner long alone.
They left their orphan here below,
A stranger wild beneath the sun;
This lesson sad to learn from woe,
The poor man's labour's never clone.


No parent's hand, with pious care,
My childhood's devious steps to guide;
Or bid my venturous youth beware
The griefs that smote on ev'ry side.?
Twas still a round of changing woe
Woe never ending, still begun,
That taught my bleeding heart to know
The poor man's labour's never done.


Soon dies the faltering voice of fame;
The vow of love's too warm to last;
And friendship! what a faithless dream;
And wealth! how soon thy glare is past.
But sure one hope remains to save,
The longest course must soon be run;
And, in the shelter of the grave,
The poor man's labour must be done.


Alone in crowds to wander on,
And feel that all the charm is gone
Which voices dear and eyes beloved
Shed round us once, where'er we roved -
This, this the doom must be
Of all who've loved, and loved to see
The few bright things they thought would stay
For ever near them, die away.

Though fairer forms around us throng,
Their smiles to others all belong,
And want that charm which dwells alone
Round those the fond heart calls its own,
Where, where the sunny brow?
The long-known voice -where are they now?
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain,
The silence answers all too plain.

Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth,
If all her art cannot call forth
One bliss like those we felt of old
From lips now mute, and eyes now cold?
No, no -her spell in vain -
As soon could she bring back again
Those eyes themselves from out the grave,
As wake again one bliss they gave.
Alone in crowds to wander on,
And feel that all the charm is gone
Which voices dear and eyes beloved
Shed round us once, where'er we roved -
This, this the doom must be
Of all who've loved, and loved to see
The few bright things they thought would stay
For ever near them, die away.

Though fairer forms around us throng,
Their smiles to others all belong,
And want that charm which dwells alone
Round those the fond heart calls its own,
Where, where the sunny brow?
The long-known voice -where are they now?
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain,
The silence answers all too plain.

Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth,
If all her art cannot call forth
One bliss like those we felt of old
From lips now mute, and eyes now cold?
No, no -her spell in vain -
As soon could she bring back again
Those eyes themselves from out the grave,
As wake again one bliss they gave.






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