Tell me not, in doctored numbers, br Life is but a name for work! br For the labour that encumbers br Me I wish that I could shirk. br br Life is phony! Life is rotten! br And the wealthy have no soul; br Why should you be picking cotton, br Why should I be mining coal? br br Not employment and not sorrow br Is my destined end or way; br But to act that each tomorrow br Finds me idler than today. br br Work is long, and plutes are lunching; br Money is the thing I crave; br But my heart continues punching br Funeral time-clocks to the grave. br br In the world's uneven battle, br In the swindle known as life, br Be not like the stockyard's cattle-- br Stick your partner with the knife! br br Trust no boss, however pleasant! br Capital is but a curse! br Strike,--strike in the living present! br Fill, oh fill the bulging purse.! br br Lives of strikers all remind us br We can make our lives a crime, br And, departing, leave behind us br Bills for double overtime. br br Charges that, perhaps another, br Working for a stingy ten br Bucks a day, some mining brother br Seeing, shall walk out again. br br Let us, then, be up and striking, br Discontent with all of it; br Still undoing, still disliking, br Learn to labour--and to quit.br br Franklin P.