Rise up, my lords!
With poverty these lands are stricken
Callused hands of maidens fair
How much further do you dare?
It is true, your heart does quicken
Have you any faith to spare?

Take on, my lords!
Hungry are these children starved
Mundane is the suffering so
The sullen sound of a crow
Do you see their faces now carved?
With the cries they bestow

Look back, my lords!
To gravestones plagued by you
Whimpers of mothers torn
Eyes coloured so forlorn
Your sorrows are much overdue
Are they worthy to mourn?