The Young Ones

With cotton to the doorstep

No place to play;

No time: what with chopping cotton

All the day.

In the broken down car

They jounce up and down

Pretend to be steering

On the way to town.

It's as far as they'll get

For many a year;

Cotton brought them

And will keep them here.

The spare-ribbed yard-dog

Has gone away;

The kids, just as hungry,

Have to stay.

In the two-roomed shack

Their mammy is lying,

With a little new brother

On her arm, crying.

Another mouth to feed

Another body to bed,

Another to grow up

Underfed.

But their pappy's happy

And they hear him say:

"The good Lord giveth,

And taketh away.

"It's two more hands

For to carry a row;

Praise God from whom

All blessings flow."