With marble tablets on the wall inscribed, that all may know, The children of the rich man are mouldering below. * * * * * The children of the poor man, around the humble doors They throng of city alleys and solitary moors. In hot and noisy factories they turn the ceaseless wheel, And eat with feeble appetite their coarse and joyless meal. They rise up in the morning, ne’er dreaming of delight; And weary, spent, and heart-sore, they go to bed at night. They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and gem; So their clothes keep out the weather they’re good enough for them. Their hands are broad and horny; they hunger, and are cold; They learn what toil and sorrow mean ere they are five years old. --The poor man’s child must step aside if the rich man’s child go by; And scarcely aught may minister to his little vanity. And of what could he be vain?--his most beautiful array Is what the rich man’s children have worn and cast away. The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for him, He must clothe himself, with thankfulness, in garments soiled and dim. He sees the children of the rich in chariots gay go by, And “what a heavenly life is their’s,” he sayeth with a sigh. Then straightway to his work he goeth, for feeble though he be, His daily toil must still be done to help the family. Thus live the poor man’s children; and if they chance to die, In plain, uncostly coffins, ’mong common graves they lie; Nor monument nor head-stone their humble names declare:-- But thou, O God, wilt not forget the poor man’s children there! LIFE’S MATINS. At that sweet hour of even, When nightingales awake, Low bending o’er her first-born son, An anxious mother spake. “Thou child of prayer and blessing, Would that my soul could know, What the unending future holds For thee of joy or woe. “Thy life, will it be gladness, A sunny path of flowers;-- Or strift, with sorrow dark as death, Through weary, wintry hours? “Oh child of love and blessing, Young blossom of life’s tree-- My spirit trembles but to think What time may make of thee! “Yet of the unveiled future Would knowledge might be given!” Then voices of the unseen ones Made answer back from heaven. FIRST VOICE. “Tears he must shed unnumbered; And he must strive with care, As strives in war the armed men: And human woe must bear. “Must learn that joy is mockery; That man doth mask his heart; Must prove the trusted faithless; And see the loved depart! “Must feel himself alone, alone; Must weep when none can see; Then lock his grief, like treasure up, For lack of sympathy.