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110 SONGi., ETC. |
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When this old rod was new,
No treadmills stained the land; No giant jails were built,
No Union workhouse planned ; The rich looked on the poor,
As brother staunch and true, Nor robbed him of his right,
When this old rod was new.
When this old rod was new,
No tires illumed the sky, To write in words of flame,
The poor man' s misery. Employment was his right,
His wages fair he drew— Oppression was unknown,
When this old rod was new.
When this old rod was new, No factory mushroom dared,
Wring wealth from blood and tears, And hold that wealth unshared !
The toil-worn man had friends, Nor mean, nor weak, nor few,
But nobles of the land,
When this aid rod was new. |
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