And luxuries that man has ever made,—
He is to have what his own toil can match!
Or, passing even this, giving no thought
To this our heritage, our vast bequest,
Condemn him to no more of human help
From living men than he can give to them!
Toil of the soldiers on the western plains,
Toil of the hardened sailors on the sea,
Toil of the sweating ploughman in the field,
The engine-driver, digger in the mine,