Classic Poem

Many have sung the soldier
From the rude, red days of old,
To this madder hour of more murderous power
And death schemes manifold
But no one has sung the striker,
Tho a better fighter he
For the living cause and the larger laws
Of the empire that is to be.

Many have sung the statesman
Of nation and state and clan;
Tho he served himself from the purse of pelf
And lorded it over man.
Yet greater than he, the striker,
Lacking both fame and fee,
At the cost of all he has built the wall
Of the city that is to be.

Many have sung the scholar,
Maker of book and school,
Tho his ease was earned by the throng unlearned
Who slaved that the few might rule.
But the lore and the law of the striker
Setteth the whole world free;
Neither ease nor toil shall the spirit spoil
In the knowledge that is to be.

Many have sung the saintly,
The pure of all times and creeds;
But, alas, the good have denied the food
For even the children's needs;
Kinder by far the striker,
And truly more righteous he,
For he stakes his meal on the common weal
And the justice that is to be.

Some day, when all are toilers,
And nobody toils for naught,
When the worker rules over kirks and schools,
And shapes all the realm of thought:
They shall sing the song of the striker,
No longer an outcast he,
But with arms abreast he shall stand confessed
In the triumph that is to be.