Shut off from the world with its light and love,

A joyless prison-house save in name,

With waves of sweltering heat from above,—

From around each corner one meets the same!

Only ill-smelling and fetid air

Is breathed by the babies God leases there!

Not a butterfly blown from the hills of green,

Gives a hint of the wonderful life without;

Not a rainbow of promise is ever seen,—

Nothing but crime and disease about!

No vesper bell calls to praise and prayer,—

Poor little dwarf souls starving there!

Never a carol or note of bird,

As he melts away in the azure blue,

From the tenement house is ever heard;

Nor is felt the wealth of diamond dew,—

Only curses and oaths fill the smoky air,

To poison the babies God leases there!

Poor little tenement souls that grow

Away from the flowers—by bricks shut in;

Never the sweetness of life to know,

Only surrounded by crime and sin!

The pleasures of living you sure should share,—

Dear little babies God leases there!