THE HOMES OF LONDON

The happy homes of London,

How beautiful they stand!

The crowded human rookeries

That mar this Christian land.

Where cats in hordes upon the roof

For nightly music meet,

And the horse, with non-adhesive hoof,

Skates slowly down the street.

The merry homes of London!

Around bare hearths at night,

With hungry looks and sickly mien,

The children wail and fight.

There woman's voice is only heard

In shrill, abusive key,

And men can hardly speak a word

That is not blasphemy.

The healthy homes of London!

With weekly wifely wage,

The hopeless husbands, out of work,

Their daily thirst assuage.

The overcrowded tenement

Is comfortless and bare,

The atmosphere is redolent

Of hunger and despair.

The blessed homes of London!

By thousands, on her stones,

The helpless, homeless, destitute,

Do nightly rest their bones.

On pavements Piccadilly way,

In slumber like the dead,

Their wan pathetic forms they lay,

And make their humble bed.

The free, fair homes of London!

From all the thinking throng,

Who mourn a nation's apathy,

The cry goes up,‘ How long!’

And those who love old England's name,

Her welfare and renown,

Can only contemplate with shame

The homes of London town.