Bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh,
Fruit of our age-long mother pain,
They have caught your life in the nation’s mesh,
They have bargained you out for their paltry gain
And they build their hope on the shattered breast
Of the child we sang to rest.
On the shattered breast and the wounded cheek-
O God! If the mothers could only speak!-
Blossom of
(
Read more... )