The Cry Of The Children Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Do ye hear the children weeping O my brothers	A
Ere the sorrow comes with years	B
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers	A
And that cannot stop their tears	C
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows	D
The young birds are chirping in the nest	E
The young fawns are playing with the shadows	D
The young flowers are blowing toward the west	E
But the young young children O my brothers	A
They are weeping bitterly	F
They are weeping in the playtime of the others	A
In the country of the free	F
	-
Do you question the young children in their sorrow	G
Why their tears are falling so	G
The old man may weep for his tomorrow	G
Which is lost in Long Ago	G
The old tree is leafless in the forest	H
The old year is ending in the frost	I
The old wound if stricken is the sorest	I
The old hope is hardest to be lost	I
But the young young children O my brothers	A
Do you ask them why they stand	I
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers	A
In our happy Fatherland	I
	-
They look up with their pale and sunken faces	J
And their looks are sad to see	F
For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses	J
Down the cheeks of infancy	F
Your old earth they say is very dreary	F
Our young feet they say are very weak	K
Few paces have we taken yet are weary	F
Our grave rest is very far to seek	K
Ask the aged why they weep and not the children	L
For the outside earth is cold	I
And we young ones stand without in our bewildering	M
And the graves are for the old	I
	-
True say the children it may happen	L
That we die before our time	N
Little Alice died last year her grave is shapen	L
Like a snowball in the rime	N
We looked into the pit prepared to take her	O
Was no room for any work in the close clay	P
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her	O
Crying 'Get up little Alice it is day '	-
If you listen by that grave in sun and shower	O
With your ear down little Alice never cries	Q
Could we see her face be sure we should not know her	O
For the smile has time for growing in her eyes	Q
And merry go her moments lulled and stilled in	L
The shroud by the kirk chime	N
It is good when it happens say the children	L
That we die before our time	N
	-
Alas alas the children They are seeking	M
Death in life as best to have	R
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking	M
With a cerement from the grave	S
Go out children from the mine and from the city	F
Sing out children as the little thrushes do	I
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow cowslips pretty	F
Laugh aloud to feel your fingers let them through	I
But they answer Are your cowslips of the meadows	D
Like our weeds anear the mine	L
Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal shadows	D
From your pleasures fair and fine	L
	-
For oh say the children we are weary	F
And we cannot run or leap	T
If we cared for any meadows it were merely	F
To drop down in them and sleep	T
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping	M
We fall upon our faces trying to go	G
And underneath our heavy eyelids drooping	M
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow	G
For all day we drag our burden tiring	M
Through the coal dark underground	I
Or all day we drive the wheels of iron	L
In the factories round and round	I
	-
For all day the wheels are droning turning	M
Their wind comes in our faces	J
Till our hearts turn our heads with pulses burning	M
And the walls turn in their places	J
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling	M
Turns the long light that drops adown the wall	U
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling	M
All are turning all the day and we with all	U
And all day the iron wheels are droning	M
And sometimes we could pray	P
'O ye wheels ' breaking out in a mad moaning	M
'Stop be silent for today '	-
	-
Ay be silent Let them hear each other breathing	M
For a moment mouth to mouth	V
Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing	M
Of their tender human youth	W
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion	L
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals	X
Let them prove their living souls against the notion	L
That they live in you or under you O wheels	X
Still all day the iron wheels go onward	I
Grinding life down from its mark	M
And the children's souls which God is calling sunward	I
Spin on blindly in the dark	M
	-
Now tell the poor young children O my brothers	A
To look up to Him and pray	P
So the blessed One who blesseth all the others	A
Will bless them another day	P
They answer Who is God that He should hear us	Y
While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred	I
When we sob aloud the human creatures near us	Y
Pass by hearing not or answer not a word	I
And we hear not for the wheels in their resounding	M
Strangers speaking at the door	Z
Is it likely God with angels singing round Him	N
Hears our weeping any more	Z
	-
Two words indeed of praying we remember	O
And at midnight's hour of harm	N
'Our Father ' looking upward in the chamber	O
We say softly for a charm	N
We know no other words except 'Our Father '	-
And we think that in some pause of angels' song	M
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather	O
And hold both within His right hand which is strong	M
'Our Father ' If He heard us He would surely	F
For they call Him good and mild	I
Answer smiling down the steep world very purely	F
'Come and rest with me my child '	-
	-
But no say the children weeping faster	O
He is speechless as a stone	L
And they tell us of His image is the master	O
Who commands us to work on	L
Go to say the children up in heaven	L
Dark wheel like turning clouds are all we find	I
Do not mock us grief has made us unbelieving	M
We look up for God but tears have made us blind	I
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving	M
O my brothers what ye preach	A2
For God's possible is taught by His world's loving	M
And the children doubt of each	A2
	-
And well may the children weep before you	I
They are weary ere they run	L
They have never seen the sunshine nor the glory	F
Which is brighter than the sun	L
They know the grief of man without its wisdom	N
They sink in man's despair without its calm	N
Are slaves without the liberty in Christdom	N
Are martyrs by the pang without the palm	N
Are worn as if with age yet unretrievingly	F
The harvest of its memories cannot reap	T
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly	F
Let them weep let them weep	T
	-
They look up with their pale and sunken faces	J
And their look is dread to see	F
For they mind you of their angels in high places	J
With eyes turned on Deity	F
How long they say how long O cruel nation	L
Will you stand to move the world on a child's heart	I
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation	L
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart	I
Our blood splashes upward O gold heaper	F
And its purple shows your path	B2
But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper	F
Than the strong man in his wrath	B2

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The Cry Of The Children Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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