The chariots of your pageantry and pomp!

It is their blood ye shed to make your feasts,

It is their treadmill that moves all your world.

Come gather now, and think how it will be

When God shall send his flaming angel down

And break these bars—so hath he done of yore,

So doeth he to lords and ladies grand—

And loose these beasts to raven in your streets!

A Sentiment on Social Reform

By Eugene V. Debs