I. W. W.
By DONALD M. CROCKER.
Sons of the sansculottes,
Savage, erect, disdainful,
Proud of their pariah estate,
They return to the civilization that has cast them out,
Hate for hate and blow for blow.
Society denied them all life's sweet, soft, comfortable
things,
And so society raised up unto itself its destroyers.
Reckless of the jails, of the policemen's clubs, of the
lynching parties made up of frightened good
citizens,
Cheerfully accepting the anathema of all reputable
people and lovers of law and order,
They laugh aloud and sing out of their little red book
Blasphemous ribaldries against all the gods and all the
masters.
(Beware, gods and masters, of rebels who laugh and
sing!)
Onward to the conquest of earth these outlaws press,
Pausing by the corpses of their martyrs only long
enough
To utter, grim-lipped, "We remember."