Rosalie Jonas

Strangely silent, strangely bare,

Tiny faces everywhere,

Strangely old and gaunt and drawn

In the dawn.

Haunting, piteous baby eyes!

Suffering mute, vicarious lies:

Sacrifice for world-old sin,

Deep therein.

“Man of pleasure,” you who lay

In your mother’s arms one day,

These upon their mother’s breast

May not rest.

These your passions touched to blight,

Seed of sated appetite,

Starve upon a pauper’s dole—

Body, soul.

That your pleasures play at ease

Babes must battle with disease:

Heavy toll of your light way

They must pay!

With the damp of anguished sweat

See these matted tresses wet!

And these unkissed, shrivelled hands

Bear the brands.

Christ, have pity! You were man

When your martyrdom began:

For men’s sins must the new-born

Feel the thorn?