Out to the mines in the chill of the morn,
Stunted, ill nourished comes the forlorn
Stream of humanity—undersized men,
Slaving and toiling for life blood; but then,
Dressed warm and cosy, with slate, book, and rule,
George and your Nellie have started to school;
They are _your_ children, _their_ cheeks warm and fair,
While Tony’s a hunky, so—What do you care?
Over the bridges, the hills, and the fen,
Streams the procession of undersized men
Climbing the stairs to the waiting machines:
Lowered in cages to death-marked ravines.
Look at their faces; sad, pinched and worn!
Look at their garments; threadbare and torn!
Look at their swagger, their precocious air,
Some mother’s babies, but—What do you care?
[Illustration:
_Courtesy Massachusetts Child Labor Committee._