SUFFRAGE SONGS, IN THIS OUR WORLD & OTHER VERSES. Charlotte Perkins Gilman
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Are learning Law and Life and Love at last.
The age-old secret of the sphinx's holding,
Incarnate triumph, infinitely strong;
The mother's majesty, grown wide and long,
In the full power and fire of life's unfolding;
The conscious splendor and ripe joy thereof—
Glad world-wide, life-long service—this is Love!
Steps
I was a slave, because I could not see
That work for one another is our law;
I hated law. I work? I would be free!
Therefore the heavy law laid hands on me
And I was forced to work in slavery—
Until I saw.
I was a hireling, for I could not see
That work was natural as the breath I drew,
Natural? I would not work without the fee!
So nature laid her heavy hands on me
And I was forced by fear of poverty—
Until I knew.
Now I am free. Life is new-seen, recast
To work is to enjoy, to love, to live!
The shame and pain of slavery are past,
Dishonor and extortion follow fast,
I am not owned, nor hired, full-born at last,
My power I give.
Child Labor
The children in the Poor House
May die of many an ill,
But the Poor House does not profit
By their labor in the mill!
The children in the Orphanage
Wear raiment far from fine,
But no Orphanage is financed
By child labor in a mine.
The Cruel Law may send them
To Reform School's iron sway,
But it does not set small children
To hard labor by the day.
Only the Loving Family,
Which we so much admire,
Is willing to support itself
On little children's hire.
Only the Human Father,
A man, with power to think,
Will take from little children
The price of food and drink.
Only the Human Mother—
Degraded, helpless thing!
Will make her little children work
And live on what they bring!
No fledgling feeds the father-bird!
No chicken feeds the hen!
No kitten mouses for the cat—
This glory is for men.
We are the Wisest, Strongest Race—
Loud my our praise be sung!—
The only animal alive
That lives upon its young!
We make the poverty that takes
The lives of babies so.
We can awake! rebuild! remake!—
And let our children grow!
His Crutches
Why should the Stronger Sex require,
To hold him to his tasks,
Two medicines of varied fire?
The Weaker Vessel asks.
Hobbling between the rosy cup
And dry narcotic brown,—
One daily drug to stir him up
And one to soothe him down.
Get Your Work Done
Get your work DONE, to remember,—
Nothing can take it away,
Then shall the sun of December
Shine brighter than goldenest May.
What is the Spring-time of flowers for?
Why does the sunshine come down?
What are the harvest-day hours for
But fruit? In the fruit is the crown.
Why should we grieve over losses?
Why should we fret over sin?
Death is the smallest of crosses
To the worker whose harvest is in.
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