Go out, children, from the mine and from the city—
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do-
Pluck you handfuls of the meadow cowslips pretty—
Laugh aloud to feel your fingers let them through!
But they answer: "Are your cowslips of the meadows 5
Like our weeds anear the mine?

Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal shadows,
From your pleasures fair and fine!

"For oh," say the children, "we are weary,
And we cannot run or leap-

If we cared for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep.

Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping-
We fall upon our faces, trying to go;

And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping,

The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.

For, all day, we drag our burden tiring

Through the coal-dark underground-
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron
In the factories, round and round.

"For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning— Their wind comes in our faces

Till our hearts turn-our head, with pulses burning,
And the walls turn in their places-

Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling—
Turns the long light that drops adown the wall-
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling-
All are turning, all the day, and we with all.
And all the day the iron wheels are droning;

And sometimes we could pray,

"O ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad moaning), 'Stop! be silent for to-day!'"

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Ay, be silent! Let them hear each other breathing For a moment, mouth to mouth

Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth!

Let them feel that this cold metallic motion

Is not all the life God fashions or revealsLet them prove their living souls against the notion That they live in you, or under you, O wheels! Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,

Grinding life down from its mark;

And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, Spin on blindly in the dark.

Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers,
To look up to Him and pray-

So the blessed One, who blesseth all the others,
Will bless them another day.

They answer: "Who is God that he should hear us,
While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred?
When we sob aloud the human creatures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word;
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door :

Is it likely God, with angels singing round him,
Hears our weeping any more?

"Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, And, at midnight's hour of harm,

'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm.

We know no other words except Our Father,'
And we think that, in some pause of angel's song, 20
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,
And hold both within His right hand, which is strong.

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'Our Father!' If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild)

Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,
Come and rest with me, my child.'

"But no!" say the children, weeping faster,
"He is speechless as a stone;

And they tell us, of His image is the master
Who commands us to work on.

Go to!" say the children-"Up in heaven,

Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving We look up for God, but tears have made us blind!" Do you hear the children weeping and disproving,

O my brothers, what ye preach ?

For God's possible is taught by His world's lovingAnd the children doubt of each.

And well may the children weep before you!

They are weary ere they run;

They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory

Which is brighter than the sun;

They know the grief of man, without his wisdom;
They sink in man's despair, without his calm—
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom-
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm-~-
Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly

The blessing of its memory cannot keep-
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly :
Let them weep! let them weep!

They look up, with their pale and sunken faces,
And their look is dread to see,

For they mind you of their angels in their places,
With eyes turned on Deity.*

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"How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation, Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart? Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,

And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper,

And your purple shows your path!

But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence
Than the strong man in his wrath!"

Ir was Christmas Day-None Other-the Day when Peace and Good-Will should Reign among Men—that 10 our Peace was rudely interrupted. We awoke in the Morning and arose long before Daybreak, expecting Nothing more than a Day of Feasting and Rejoicing, with Twelve more Days to Follow, all of Mirth and Joy. Well: Feasting there was. As for the Rejoicing 15 -but you shall hear.

In the Morning all my Father's Tenants and the Servants gathered about Eight of the Clock in the Hall. Here we met them, and after Christmas Greetings—all the Old Customs did not Perish when the Religion was 20 changed the Black Jack went Round full of Strong October instead of Small Ale, and the Men sat down to the great Christmas Sausage with Toast and Cheese.

After Breakfast we all went together to Church. 'Twas a still Morning, the Snow falling, and the Ditches 25 frozen over. Such a Christmas Morning one loves, when

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the World seems Hushed and Awed by the Tremendous Event of the Night. In every Church, methinks, on that Morning, is a Manger; every Star is the Star of Bethlehem; the Way of Walsingham, as the People still call the Milky Way, points to the Church in every Parish. 5 In this Night, they say, the Cock awoke and crow'd, "Christ is Born." Then the Raven awoke and croak'd, "When?" And the Crow reply'd, "This Night." And the Ox ask'd, "Where?" And the Sheep reply'd, “In Bethlehem."

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My Father led the Way, and after him I walked with my Brother, and all the People after, save the Maids, who were wanted by the Cook to dress and serve the Christmas Feast. That, to be sure, was ready long before, with its Store of Christmas Pye, Shrid Pye, Plum 15 Pudding, and Plum Porridge; its Beef and Turkeys— none so good as those from Norfolk; its Capons, Fat Geese, and Manchets.

Sermon over, the People flock'd out, and we follow'd. But in the Porch, waiting for Speech with Sir Francis, 20 was none other than Sir Humphrey Hayes, and with him Will and two or three Grave Merchants of Wells. So Sir Humphrey went into the Church and talk'd for the Space of ten Minutes, and then they came forth. My Father, instead of walking through the People, who 25 were waiting in two Lines for us to pass, mounted the Steps of the old Church Cross, where he stood looking mighty Grave, so that all the World could tell that he had News to tell. Sir Humphrey remain'd in the Porch with Sir Anthony and the Merchants.

Then my Father spoke.

"My Friends," he say'd, "here is News which is likely to be a Mar-Feast. Yet needs must that I tell you. It is such News as I had hoped never to hear in my Life

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