Trade

Where yonder ruddy-misted star Is tumbling down the placid sky The people's aims were not so high As our heroic motives are; To love and trust they set a bar, And 'Profit' was their only cry; They paid but little heed how nigh Came thundering the iron car. It rushed upon them and it passed Leaving a ghost of pain and fear To haunt the ruin it had made. But surely they have learnt at last? What far faint murmur can we hear Of frantic howling? Listen! . . . 'TRADE.'