OUR FAITH.

Grey River Argus, 19 January 1922, Page 6

OUR FAITH.

They blister sore our jaded feet, The leagues we leave behind us; Of ev’ry rock that roughs the road Our mocking foes remind us. “Tramp on, ye dolts, the fools’ parade, ’ ’ In chorus do they bawl that; But though our prize *is long delayed It’s coining yet, for all that, For all that and all that; Our bitter pain and all that; Those jibes and jeers, those weary years— We’ll win reward for all that. And Nature’s laws, they tell us, too, Forbid the hope we cherish; That, though their souls be high and true, The weak must ever perish. But, ah, Ave heed them not the least, Though science they may call that; The tiger spares his brother beast — We’ll reach his stage, for all that, For all that, and all that, There’s love within for all that; The fiercest creatures spare their kind — We’ll yet have peace, for all that. Our creetf on Plato’s gifted lips The wond’ring ancients greeted; And from the Cross of Calvary The message was repeated. “Your hope is but an empty dream,” The hireling scribblers scraAvl that, But let them tarnish ream on ream— It’s coming yet, for all that, For all that, and all that, It swells our souls, for all that; I The harvest of the Socialist Is coming yet, for all that. —JIM CONNELL, j