Identifier: johnpaulsbookmor00paul (find matches)
Title: John Paul's book: moral and instructive: consisting of travels, tales, poetry, and like fabrications
Year: 1874 (1870s)
Authors: Paul, John, 1834-1905
Subjects:
Publisher: Hartford, Conn., Chicago, Ill. : Columbian Book Company
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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the meshes and lines Of the net they were spreading for man. If the carpenter chose he could tell. As he drove in the finishing nail.How the blow, as it echoing fell. Rang through the low hall like a wail;The mason could tell, if he chose. Of the blood accidentally spilt.Which spattered the walls as they rose. And reddened the mortar with guilt.But they hurried the work to its close. And the Tenement-house was built. In a narrow and dim-lighted street. Where the light of Gods sun never beams,Where the tenement lodger is blest If haply he sees it in dreams ;Where the pavements are reeking with filth. And the sewers pour their pestilent breath, ,Where Fever and Famine link hands. And Disease holds a revel with Death;In the midst of this rottenhig reek. Where a prayer would have taint like a curse,The millionaire built for the Poor, That dollars might come to his purse;That servants miglit wait on his chair. That a preacher might purr in his face;That his wife might be rustling in silk.
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A NIGHT SCENE. THE HOUSE FOR THE TOOR CATCHES FIRE. 355 And his daughters float lightly in lace.Oh, think of tliis, daughters and wives, As your carriage through fair Broadway rolls.That your splendor is purchased by lives ; That your horses feet trample on souls Shall I tell of the tenement-house? Of the human forms packed in its walls,With scarcely the space for their lungs Allotted to beasts in their stalls ?Shall I tell of the rottening beams. Of the stairway which rocked with your tread.Of the floor which was crumbling below, And the slime-dropping walls overhead?Shall I tell th;it the foulness without Was pure to the foulness within.Of the harvest that Deaths sickle reaps When Poverty crouches with Sin ? But little the millionaire recked Of the lives or the souls that were lost,For Rotten-row paid like a mine, And the yearly rcut douljled its cost. In the hush of a still Sabbath night, While thousands were kneeling in prayer,The Fire-fiend escaped from his thrall And waved his r

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