How few there are with unsoiled hands,
And educated tongues,
Who'll stand by us, my working friends,
And help to right our wrongs.
They go a certain length with us,
But faint of heart return
When we meet someone with a cross,
Bearing a crown of thorn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I never heard of this poet before, but I like these words.