As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts grey Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses For the people hear us singing, “Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses.” As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead Go crying thro’ our singing, their ancient song of bread. Small art, and love, and beauty, their drudging spirits knew; Yes! ’tis bread we fight for, but we fight for roses, too. As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days, The rising of the women means the rising of the race. No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes But a sharing of life’s glories, “Bread and Roses,” Bread and Roses. And you, chance reader, may be able, even in a small way, to focus the light of public opinion by either voice, pen, spoken word, or this booklet, upon this grave miscarriage of justice. WHAT ARE _YOU_ GOING TO DO? The time is quickly drawing nigh. Michaelmas Day, September 29th, 1915, sees the expiration of the glebe notices. Trades Councils, Brotherhoods, Co-operative Guilds, Associations of all kinds may help in this matter. Our brothers are laying down their lives in Flanders to preserve that heritage of the ages, Freedom. We want that freedom in Burston. The people require freedom to worship God in their own way. Freedom to have their children taught by those whom they love. Freedom to remain in the villages where their fathers died, and not to be ousted at the caprice of every gentleman whom they do not see eye to eye with. Freedom is a goddess worth dying for. Here I express the thanks of the Higdons, and the Babes and Braves o’ Burston, to the many friends who have risen up. A cynic once said, “Gratitude is a lively sense of favours to come.” Granted—and why not? The recipient confers a pleasure in accepting. Our hearts are still full of hopes of help in the near future. The Trade Union Congress meets in September. Maybe we shall find more friends there. To E. B. Reeves, of The Bungalow, Norwich, I tender thanks. As Robert Louis Stevenson puts it, “He is a bonnie fechter” for freedom, vigilant, tireless, painstaking. To the many noble speakers thanks also. Offers of help, orders for this pamphlet, friendly suggestions, and letters of advice will find him at the address: E. B. Reeves, The Bungalow, Norwich. The fight after all is a real fight for “Bread and Roses.” The same year that Calvin died Shakespeare came on earth. It was a real good exchange without any robbery. * * * * * * * * * * The National Labour Press, Ltd., Manchester and London. 18991 * * * * * “CASEY” CONTRIBUTES EACH WEEK TO THE LABOUR LEADER * * * * *