Grant Balfour, On Strike Till 3
“ The chill of death went thro' her, and she gave A piercing cry and fled. Of Christmas Day, Next day but one, the pretty child had come To speak and childlike tell of something fine She was to bring. But that great day of countless Happy homes would see the cottage empty. Nature, nature's God, in mercy stayed The stricken widow's ill-paid, weary labour. She had gone on strike, as David said, And she had taken her darling with her. ”
Grant Balfour, On Strike Till 3
“ 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." ”
Grant Balfour, On Strike Till 3
“ Of beaver, bear and wolf, and jet black squirrel, But, best of all, of smiling Santa Claus, Aroused an interest intense. The deep Ravine itself and other themes all passed Beneath her spell. And he, tho' entertained, Was also purified and lifted up. "My mother, dear," he said, "When I'm a man, I'll work and work for you, and buy a castle And a carriage; you will be a lady, And nevermore be tired." ”
