Few Can Work And Many Must Weep
THOUSANDS of eyes look out into the west ---
Out into the west from village and town,
While the flowing tear, and the heaving breast
Are one with the heads that are all bow’d down.
For few can work, and many must weep;
There’s little to do, and many to keep
While the canons still are booming.
Thousands of hands are idle and still ---
Idle and still, from each morning till nigt,
While hearts with despair are beginning to fill,
And faces grow haggard and deadly white.
For few can work, and many must weep,
Though their tears to themselves, they’re trying to keep.
While the cannons still are booming.
Oh! ye mothers and sisters all over the land,
Think of those starving in the winter’s cold,
And speedily help them, with loving hand,
For they’re brave as the martyrs who died of old.
And though they can’t work, they need not weep
If each one a brother or sister would keep,
Till their cannons cease their booming.