THE CRY OF THE HEART
... THE CRY OF THE HEART. Bread I bread I bread I oh father-father, dear I The pining children faintly said; And every pang they bear That father feels, who stands like stone In ghastly, grim despair; A hopeless, foodless man-undone, Opprest with mortal care. It. Bread I bread I bread I oh father-father, dear! Better that we this day were dead Than perishing slowly here I Each small, shrill ...