They hurt us and
underpay us. Sometimes one of us gets an arm torn off. Are we to lie
in our beds loving the man who gets rich from the iron machine that
ripped the arm from the shoulder?
"On our knees and in our arms we have borne their children. On the
streets we see them--the petted children of our madness. See we have
let them run about misbehaving. We have given them automobiles and
wives with soft clinging dresses. When they have cried we have cared
for them.
"And they being children with the minds of children are confused. The
noise of affairs alarms them. They run about shaking their ringers and
commanding. They speak with pity of us--Labour--their father.
"And now we will show them their father in his might. The little
machines they have in their factories are toys we have given them and
that for the time we leave in their hands. We do not think of the toys
nor the soft-bodied women. We make of ourselves a mighty army, a
marching army going along shoulder to shoulder. We can love that.
"When they see us, hundreds of thousands of us, marching into their
minds and into their consciousness, then will they be afraid. And at
the little meetings they have when three or four of them sit talking,
daring to decide what things we shall have from life, there will be in
their minds a picture.
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