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Title: The Trust
Author: Jean Blewett [
More Titles by Blewett]
We steal the brawn, we steal the brain;
The man beneath us in the fight
Soon learns how helpless and how vain
To plead for justice or for right.
We steal the youth, we steal the health,
Hope, courage, aspiration high;
We steal men's all to make for wealth--
We will repent us by and by.
Meantime, a gift will heaven appease--
Great God, forgive our charities!
We steal the children's laughter shrill,
We steal their joys e'er they can taste,
"Why skip like young lambs on a hill?
Go, get ye to your task in haste."
No matter that they droop and tire,
That heaven cries out against the sin,
The gold, red gold, that we desire
Their dimpled hands must help to win.
A cheque for missions, if you please--
Great God, forgive our charities!
We steal the light from lover's eyes,
We hush the tale he has to tell
Of pure desire, of tender ties--
No man can serve two masters well.
So loot his treasury of pride,
His holy hopes and visions steal,
His hearth-fire scatter far and wide,
And grind the sparks beneath your heel.
A cheque will cover sins like these--
Great God, forgive our charities!
[The end]
Jean Blewett's poem: Trust
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