Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/294

 It isn't just to see the hills beside me Grow fresh and green with every growing thing; I only want the leaves to come and hide me, To cover up my vengeful wandering.

I will not watch the floating clouds that hover Above the birds that warble on the wing; I want to use this from under cover— O, Buddy, how I'm longing for the spring!

You see them there, below, the damned scab-herders! Those puppets on the greedy Owners' String; We'll make them pay for all their dirty murders— We'll show them how a starveling's hate can sting!

They riddled us with volley after volley; We heard their speeding bullets zip and ring, But soon we'll make them suffer for their folly— O, Buddy, how I'm longing for the spring!

Surely oppression maketh a wise man mad.

Political Violence

(From an Anarchist pamphlet published in London; author unknown)

Under miserable conditions of life, any vision of the possibility of better things makes the present misery more intolerable, and spurs those who suffer to the most energetic struggles to improve their lot; and if