Below my window goes the cattle train,
And stands for hours along the river park,
Fear, Cold, Exhaustion, Hunger, Thirst, and Pain;
Dumb brutes we call them — Hark!

The bleat of frightened mother-calling young,
Deep-throated agony, shrill frantic cries,
Hoarse murmur of the thirst-distended tongue,
Up to my window rise.

Bleak lies the shore to northern wind and sleet,
In open-slatted cars they stand and freeze;
Beside the broad blue river in the heat
All waterless go these.

Hot, fevered, frightened, trampled, bruised, and torn;
Frozen to death before the ax descends;
We kill these weary creatures, sore and worn,
And eat them — with our friends.