Labor To Capital

My heart is sick and my soul is sick

     Of the shameful greed of men;

Of the endless crush and the headlong rush

     Which stifles this age of ken (?).

O the heedless strife and needless strife

     Which blackens the skies that be;

It is all for gain that we suffer pain,

     And it cripples both you and me.

I’m sick of the rich man’s avarice,

     Of his daily poorhouse dread;

I’m sick of the strife that haunts the life

     Of the soul who toils for bread.

The poor man’s snarl and the rich man’s sneer

     Go ringing from sea to sea;

And the discord jars from Earth to Mars,

     And it rankles both you and me.

I’m sick of the sight and sound of trade,

     ‘Tis nothing but Godless schemes;

And the fool who dreams of his honest schemes;

     Is a dreamer of Godless dreams.

But there is a way if we only would,

     That lighten the burdens that be;

To sweeten the life and kill the strife,

     And it rests with both you and me.

                                           “Mill Ballads”

Feb. 26, ’97?