“Not by such, then, but by _us_ These hell-wrongs must be redressed. Take this morsel venomous; Nourish it within your breast. “You must live on, live and hate; Conquer wrath, despair and pain; For “we bid you hope” and wait Till the Red Flag flies again: “Till once more the people rise, Once more, once and only once, Blood-red hands and blazing eyes Of the robbed and murdered ones! “So good night, dear desperate heart. (Nay, ’tis sun-bright day we keep.) Soon we meet, though now we part. Kiss me . . . Take it . . . Go and sleep!” “THE TRUTH.” Come then, let us at least know what’s the truth. Let us not blink our eyes and say We did not understand; old age or youth Benumbed our sense or stole our sight away. It is a lie—just that, a lie—to declare That wages are the worth of work. No; they are what the Employer wills to spare To let the Employee sheer starvation shirk. They’re the life-pittance Competition leaves, The least for which brother’ll slay brother. He who the fruits of this hell-strife receives, He is a thief, an assassin, and none other! It is a lie—just that, a lie—to declare That Rent’s the interest on just gains. Rent’s the thumb-screw that makes the worker share With him who worked not the produce of his pains. Rent’s the wise tax the human tape-worm knows. The fat he takes; the life-lean leaves. The holy Landlord is, as we suppose, Just this—the model of assassin-thieves! What is the trick the rich-man, then, contrives? How play my lords their brilliant rôles?— _They live on the plunder of our toiling lives_, _The degradation of our bodies and souls_! TO THE SONS OF LABOUR.