I've sung this a few times. As with most of mine, it sounds more in the "traditional" idiom rather than Bob Dylan.

Now the frost was set hard on the field
And the sun it hung low in the sky
The land it had ceased for to yield
The ewes and the cattle they died

Chorus
Oh where were you then in our need
As we called for your aid and we cried
Oh help us our children to feed
But you turned your heads and passed by

So we fled from the land in our droves
To the dark of the mills were condemned
Farewell to the pastures and groves
But our children were still cold and clemmed

The depression it robbed us of pride
And the mills they were all closing down
So we marched with the new union tide
To the south from our bleak northern towns

But you gathered your wealth from our need
Making money from money again
Making greed your religion and creed
Ignoring the working man's pain

Now you sit in your country estates
With your bonuses keeping you warm
Just look to your fortified gates
And hope that you weather the storm.