The Mill Mother's Lament

We leave our home in the morning,

We kiss our children good-bye,

While we slave for the bosses,

Our children scream and cry.

And when we draw our money,

Our grocery bills to pay,

Not a cent to spend for clothing,

Not a cent to lay away.

And on that very evening,

Our little son will say,

“I need some shoes, dear mother,

And so does sister May.”

How it grieves the heart of a mother,

You every one must know,

But we can’t buy for our children,

Our wages are too low.

Now listen to me, workers,

Both women and men,

We are sure to win our union,

If all would enter in.

I hope this will be a warning,

I hope you will understand,

And help us win our victory,

And lend to us a hand.

It is for our little children

That seem to us so dear,

But for us nor them, dear workers,

The bosses do not care.

But understand, all workers,

Our union they do fear,

Let’s stand together, workers,

And have a union here.