We are hewers and delvers who toil for another'j pain, The common clod and rabble, stunted of bron and brain What do we want, the gleaners, of the harvest w have rfiaped? We want the drones to be driven away from oui golden board; We want to sbare in the harvest, we want to sil at the board; We want what sword or suffrage has never yel won for man - The fruits of his toil God promlsed when the carst of toil began. Ye have tried the sword and scepter, the croa and the sacred word In all the years, and the kingdom is not here yei of tlie Lord. We are tired of useless waiting, we are tired ol fruitless prayers. Soldier and churchman and lawyer- the faUure 11 not theirs. What gain is it to the people that a God laid down his liie, If twenty centuries after his world be a world oi strifef If the serried ranks be facing eaeb. other witS rnthless eyes, And steel iu their hands, what proflts a Saviour'a sacriflce? Ye have tried aud failed to rula us; in vain te direet us have tried: Not wholly the fault of the ruler, not utterly blind the guide. Mayhap there needs not a ruler, niayhap we can flnd the way; At least ye havo ruled to ruin; at least ye have led astray. What matter if king or eouncil or president hol the rein. If crime and poverty ever be links in the bondnian's chain? What careth the burden bearer that liberty packed his load, If hunger presses behind him with a sharp and ready goad? There 's a serf whose chains are of paper; there'i a king with a parchment crown ; Tbere are robber knighta and brigands in factory, field and town. But the vassal pays his tribute to a lord of wag and rent. 4nd the baron "s toil is Shylock's, with a flesh and blood per cent. The seamstress bends to her labor all night in a narrow room: The chüd, defrauded of childhood, tiptoes all daj at the loom. The soul must starve, for the body can barely 01 husks be f ed ; And the loaded dice of the gambler settles the loal of bread. Ye have shorn and bound the Samson and robbed him of learning's light, But his sluggish brain is moving, his sinews hav all their might. Look wel] to your gates of Gaza, your privilege, pride and caste; The giant is blind, but thinking, and his locks ut growing fast.