Famine, Fever, Frost

Who will open England's purses

Till their golden stream

Flows where smokeless chimneys shadow

Engines lacking steam?

Where familiar eyes is glaring

Hunger's wolfish gleam?

I said, "Famine," and she set her

Sternly to the test

Sucked the strong man's life-blood from him

Drained the mother's breast

Stripped the room and cleared the cupboard

There I've done my best

Still the purses would not open

Nor the gold-stream flow

Still blind motion's scrambling efforts

Wavered to and fro

Famine with her forces baffled

Must the task forego

I said, "Fever," and she mustered

Grimly o'er the train

Fiery torches spreading madness

Through the blood and brain

Famine was afeint

How'd Fever will the victory gain?

Still the purses would not open

Nor the gold-stream flow

Still blind motion's scrambling efforts

Wavered to and fro

Fever with her forces baffled

Must the task forego

I said, "Frost" and ere the season

For the work arrayed

Chills the nimble man's life and natures

In the blood and blade

Famine, Fever may be baffled

Frost has men enslaved

Still the purses would not open

Nor the gold-stream flow

Still blind motion's scrambling efforts

Wavered to and fro

And now Famine, Frost, and Fever

Rivalry forego

Working hand in hand if haply

They may open wide

England's purse, and send her riches

In a golden tide

Over the wastes where Toil sits pining

At a cold hearth-side