---

Robert Laurence Binyon - The Rag—Picker
Work rating: Low

In the April sun
 Shuffling, shapeless, bent,
 Cobweb--eyed, with stick
 Searching, one by one,
 Gutter--heaps, intent
 Wretched rags to pick.

 Oh, is this a man?--
 Man, whose spirit erect
 Trampling circumstance,
 Death and evil, can
 Measure worlds, nor checked
 By fell time and chance,

 With undaunted eye,
 With a mouth of song,
 Front the starry blue?--
 (O you passers--by,
 Moving swift and strong,
 Answer, what seek you?)

 Husk of manhood, mere
 Shrivel of his kind!--
 In a bloodless mask
 How the old eyes peer,
 With no light behind!--
 Mate of his mean task;

 Yet this wreckage fill
 With a thought, possess
 With a faith`s empire,
 It shall be a will
 Mightier than the seas,
 Man, more dread than fire!
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.