On Strike

One day some workmen Struck for better pay. And David wondered What it meant to strike. "What is it, mother?-- Do they hit the men that give them work?" The mother smiled. "No, no, my child, they merely Rest or cease from work to force their masters Into giving better pay to get them Back to work." A happy thought now seized him-- "Oh, mother, strike, and then the people sure Will give you better pay." The mother smiled, But sighed and said, "My darling boy, if I Should strike, a score of women poor are ready, Even glad, to take my place, perchance for less." The boy was disappointed, and his heart Was sad.

But "strike," that odd word strike, as meaning Rest from work, or stopping work, clung fast To David's mind. Apart from better pay He thought that something good remained, and so At night, the last thing done before he slept, The boy would often take his board, a blackboard Big, and chalk in letters large and white-- "On strike till 7," "On strike till 6," "On strike Till 5," according as his mother's work Required, or strength could stand. The metal clock, A loud alarum, was also wound and set. At this the mother always smiled, but when Her treasure's eyes were closed in sleep she wept. She dared not bend and kiss those cherub lips. His lovely face grew paler day by day, And dread, an awful dread, laid hold of her. And she herself was wasting swift and sure-- The candle flame was burning low.