Page:Poems Trask.djvu/69

Just as I used to do
 Ere life a burden seemed,
Ere Hope's star faded on my view
 And the hours with anguish teemed;
Alas! alas! of this pent-up life
 My childhood never dreamed!

Toil for a hard, dry crust,
 With hand that never lags,—
Coining my very soul to dust
 For a bed of squalid rags!
For a shelter over my head,
 A rickety, leaking roof,—
Where the very swallows with looks of dread
 Keep from the eaves aloof,—
And the sunbeams hardly deign to weave
 Their golden-fingered woof!

Clang! clang! from the belfry tall,
 'Tis the welcome evening bell!
Cold, weary hearts leap at the call,
 The call they know so well;
To rest!—ah, name misgiven!
 Rest, with a breaking heart?
There is no rest this side of heaven,
 No rest till the soul depart!
Oh, who would live to suffer and bear
 Grim Poverty's bitter smart?

And it's home to my scanty fare,
 And home to my hovel drear:—
Oh, will God's angels ever care
 To hover my dwelling near?