These are but few of all the million ways
Whereby man's toil is lightened and he hath gained
Tenfold in comfort, luxury and ease.
For these and more the millions that enjoy
May thank the wise and wealthy few who gave.
If the rich are richer the poor are richer too.
A narrow demagogue I count the man
Who cries to-day--_"Progress and Poverty"_;
As if a thousand added comforts made
The poor man poorer and his lot the worse.
'Tis but a new toot on the same old horn
That brayed in ancient Greece and Babylon,
And now amid the ruined walls of Rome
Lies buried fathoms deep in dead men's dust.
_"Progress and Poverty!"_ Man, hast thou traced
The blood that throbs commingled in thy veins?
Over thy shoulder hast thou cast a glance
On thine old Celtic-Saxon-Norman sires--
Huddled in squalid huts on beds of straw?
Barefooted churls swine-herding in the fens,
Bare-legged cowherds in their cow-skin coats,
Wearing the collars of their Thane or Eorl,
His serfs, his slaves, even as thy dog is thine;
Harried by hunger, pillaged, ravaged, slain,
By Viking robbers and the warring Jarls;
Oft glad like hunted swine to fill their maws
With herbs and acorns.
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