Like a trampled flower she lay there
In the cabin on the hill:
"Jennie's sick. said Tom, ber brother.
To the foreman of the mill.
Tossing in her restless fever.
On a blanket soiled and torn,
Lay this work-worn child of sorrow.
Eight sad years since she was born.
Then her fever fancy wandered,
And her eyes grew dim with fear,
"Mamma: hurry ! there's the whistle,
I'll be late if I lie here.
See the wheel above the window.
What a big one ! See it whirl !
Mamma, I'm so tired of working,
And I'm such a little girl !
"Can't I have a dolly, Mamma ?
Like the one we saw to-day ?
Are there mills in heaven. Mamma,
Won't God let me run and play ?
See how fast the spools are running--
Faster--faster--Oh! my head !
No--I did not do it No.--sir,
Please--I do not break the thread.
"There, my finger's caught, 'tis bleeding"
Stop the wheel and let me go!
Mamma quick, the wheel will Kill me !
Stop It! Oh. it hurts me so--
Then the angel paused beside her ;
Fanned her with his cooling breath.
Touched her beating heart and
Soothed her with the peace of Death.
--American paper.
Notes
From the Brisbane Newspaper The Truth 2 Nov 1913 p. 3.
American compositions like this often found their way into Australian newspapers, especially at times when the Australian Labour movement was pioneering the right to vote and finding new ways to demand better conditions."
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