The heart of the nation is throbbing with grief
At the tales that are told of the winter distress;
We are longing to hear of some scheme of relief
That will make London’s burthen of misery less.
But what we’re to do, or how best to commence,
There’s nobody able, it seems, to explain.
O, isn’t there someone with courage and sense
To draw up a workable Plan of Campaign?
The work of the nation is all in arrears:
We tinker the laws that need thorough repair,
We potter about between Commons and Peers,
And fools in the Senate their eloquence air.
To rout the obstruction that stands in the way,
And wields a long tongue and gives battle to brain,
Is there none who can marshal a force for the fray,
And act on a sensible Plan of Campaign?
There are women of England who toil for their bread—
Poor hard-working sisters and mothers and wives,
Whose years are a slavery, dreary and dread,
Who drag out their cruel and colourless lives.
Can nothing be done that may better their state?
Shall the white women slaves in their bondage remain?
O, manhood of Britain! think, think of their fate,
And start the New Year with some Plan of Campaign.