Classic Poem

Child, is thy father dead?
Father is gone!
Why did they tax his bread?
God's will be done!
Mother has sold her bed;
Better to die than wed!
Where shall she lay her head?
Home we have none!

Father clamm'd thrice a week,
God's will be done!
Long for work did he seek,
Work he found none.
Tears on his hollow cheek
Told what no tongue could speak:
Why did his master break?
God's will be done!

Doctor said air was best,
Food we had none;
Father, with panting breast,
Groan'd to be gone:
Now he is with the blest--
Mother says death is best!
We have no place of rest--
Yes, ye have one!