Sunday, 3 May 2020

Let Us Alone.

      May Day has passed with lots of different ways of celebrating our day, from virtual get-togethers to May Day strikes, I must say I prefer the latter. Though the day has passed I hope the spirit and idea behind it will live on and grow rapidly. One thing that hasn't gone away is covid19, it still stays with us, and will be with us for some time to come as it shapes the way we live.
    So to get away from that continuing presence I thought I would just stick in a couple of verses of poetry. These are from Charles Mackay, Scottish poet one I don't particularly like, too patriotic and too much reliance on God to sort things out. However, even people like that can produce the odd words of wisdom. These might be a wee bit tame, but they do point in a direction not too happy with the powers that be. These are the last three verses for his poem "Let Us Alone":
Let Us Alone.

Though dwellers in a little isle,
We bear no hate to other lands,
And think that Peace on earth might smile
If we and others join'd our hands.
In Reason's spite why should we fight?
We'll war no more-we're wiser grown.
Quibblers and stirrers up of hate,
Let us alone-let us alone.

White man or black, to us alike;
Foemen of no men we will live,
We will not lift our hands to strike.
Or evil for advantage give.
Our hands are free to earn their fee,
Our tongues to let the truth be known;
So despots, knaves, and foes of right,
Let us alone-let us alone.

Great are our destinies: our task,
Long since begun, shall never end
While suffering has a boon to ask,
Or truth needs spokesmen to defend;
While vice or crime pollute the time,
While nations bleed, or patriots groan.
Rulers be wise! and meddling fools,
Let us alone-let us alone. 

And, The Little Moles:

The Little Moles

When grasping tyranny offends,
Or angry bigots frown;
When rulers plot, for selfish ends,
To keep the nations down;
When statesmen form unholy league
To drive the world to war;
When knaves in palaces intrigue
For ribbons or a star
We raise our heads, survey their deeds,
And cheerily reply,
Grub, little moles, grub under ground,
There's sunshine in the sky.
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