Tuesday, April 2, 2019

Nothing To Do

Nothing To Do
 by James Ephraim McGire

The fields are white,
    The laborers are few;
Yet say the idle,
    There’s nothing to do.

Jails are crowded,
    In Sunday Schools few;
We still complain
    There’s nothing to do.

Drunkards are dying,
    Your sons, it is true;
Mothers’ arms folded,
    With nothing to do.

Heathens are dying,
    Their blood falls on you;
How can you people
    Find nothing to do?


Tim G. said...

Thought provoking poem. It is a call to social conscience and responsibility to act. How thoughtful and timely it was as I watch the morning news.

BosGuy said...

I so wish he had been my math teacher. Love me some Pietro Boselli.