BRATT:--What is there to herald the coming of better things? A new generation up there? Listen to what their young people answer for themselves: "We want a good time!" And their books? The books and the youth together make the future. And what do the books say? Exactly the same as the youth: "Let us have a good time! Ours are the light and the lust of life, its colors and its joys!" That's what the youth and their books say.--They are right! It is all theirs! There is no law to prevent their taking life's sunlight and joy away from the poor people. For those who have the sun have also made the law.--But then the next question is whether we might not scramble up high enough to take part in the writing of a new law. (_This is received with thundering cheers._) What is needed is that one generation makes an effort strong enough to raise all coming generations into the vigorous life of full sunlight. MANY:--Yes, yes! BRATT:--But so far every generation has put it off on the next one. Until at last _our_ turn has come--to bear sacrifices and sufferings like unto those of death itself! Weavers BY HEINRICH HEINE (See page 97) Their eyelids are drooping, no tears lie beneath; They stand at the loom and grind their teeth; "We are weaving a shroud for the doubly dead, And a threefold curse in its every thread-- We are weaving, still weaving. "A curse for the Godhead to whom we have bowed In our cold and our hunger, we weave in the shroud; For in vain have we hoped and in vain have prayed; He has mocked us and scoffed at us, sold and betrayed-- We are weaving, still weaving. "A curse for the king of the wealthy and proud, Who for us had no pity, we weave in the shroud; Who takes our last penny to swell out his purse, While we die the death of a dog--yea, a curse-- We are weaving, still weaving. "A curse for our country, whose cowardly crowd Hold her shame in high honor, we weave in the shroud; Whose blossoms are blighted and slain in the germ, Whose filth and corruption engender the worm-- We are weaving, still weaving. "To and fro flies our shuttle--no pause in its flight, 'Tis a shroud we are weaving by day and by night; We are weaving a shroud for the worse than dead, And a threefold curse in its every thread-- We are weaving--still weaving." Alton Locke BY CHARLES KINGSLEY (See pages 78, 84)