A VOICE FROM THE SWEAT-SHOPS

“Praise God from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him all creatures here below.

Every morning mercies new

Fall as fresh as morning dew.”

Yet we are choked with sin

With bestial lusts and guile;

God ( so it runs ) made this world clean

And Man has made it vile.

Aye, here Man lives on man,

And breaks him day by day —

But in the trampled jungle

The tiger claws his prey.

God's curse is on the thief;

The murderer fares ill —

Who gave the beasts their taste for blood

Who taught them how to kill?

“All praise to Him Who built the hills,

All praise to Him Who each stream fills;

All praise to Him Who lights each star

That sparkles in the sky afar.”

All praise to Him who made

The earthquake and the flood;

All praise to Him who made the pest

That sucks away the blood.

All praise to Him whose mind

Had the desire to make

The shark, the scorpion, the gnat

And the envenomed snake.

Beauty itself He turns

To slay and to be slain —

A thousand evil poisons

His peaceful woods contain.

“Lift up your heart! Lift up your voice!

Rejoice! Again I say, rejoice!

For His mercies, they are sure

His compassion will endure!”

Rejoice because each man

Has but a man's desire

To sin the little human sins

As a child that plays with fire.

Rejoice because God's plans

Are far too deep for talk...

He lets the swallow feed on flies —

Then gives it to the hawk!

Rejoice because He made

A world in some wild mood;

A world that feeds upon itself —

‘ And God saw it was good...’

Yet who are we to rail —

Vainly we strive and storm —

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform!

‘ Blind unbelief is sure to err,’

They say, and yet again,

‘ God is His own interpreter’ —

When will He make it plain?