Tough, my lords of Capital! Hard as the coal-seam black
Your Cyclops-drudges dig at—when you will allow them to dig.
Say, on your conscience now, is your purse so slender and slack
That you cannot bend a little to those who have made you big?
The wealth the sunlight stored men hew for you in the dark,
From the black and poisonous caverns which once were forests free,
'Tis yours—till certain questions are asked and answered! Hark
To me!
Men will not always stand, while Monopoly wages war,
Mute, unquestioning, suffering. Greed, and starvation wage,