Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/811

 earns his bread; and that every hour which he gives to the one, he lessens his power and his capacity for the other. Every hour that he gives to the earning of his bread, he takes from his soul, he weakens his work, he destroys beauty which never again can he know or dream.

And this again is what I tell you, this again is what I cry out to you: that the power by which a man of Genius does his work, and the power by which he earns his bread, are things so entirely distinct that they may not occur together at all! The man may have both, but then again he my only have the former. And in that case he will die like a poisoned rat in a hole.

AREWELL, Bristolia's dingy piles of brick, Lovers of mammon, worshippers of trick! Ye spurned the boy who gave you antique lays, And paid for learning with your empty praise. Farewell, ye guzzling aldermanic fools, By nature fitted for corruption's tools! I go to where celestial anthems swell; But you, when you depart, will sink to hell. Farewell, my mother!—cease, my anguished soul, Nor let distraction's billows o'er me roll! Have mercy, Heaven! when here I cease to live, And this last act of wretchedness forgive.