Page:The Man with the Hoe, Markham, 1900.djvu/37

Rh All are sharers in the yield.

But we mortals plot and plan

How to grind the fellow-man;

Glad to find him in a pit,

If we get some gain of it.

So with us, the sons of Time,

Labor is a kind of crime,

For the toilers have the least,

While the idlers lord the feast.

Yes, our workers they are bound,

Pallid captives to the ground;

Jeered by traitors, fooled by knaves,

Till they stumble into graves.

How appears to tiny eyes

All this wisdom of the wise? 9