BREAD AND ROSES.

As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day

A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts grey

Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses

For the people hear us singing, “Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses.”

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead

Go crying thro’ our singing, their ancient song of bread.

Small art, and love, and beauty, their drudging spirits knew;

Yes! ’tis bread we fight for, but we fight for roses, too.

As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days,

The rising of the women means the rising of the race.

No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes

But a sharing of life’s glories, “Bread and Roses,” Bread and Roses.

And you, chance reader, may be able, even in a small way, to focus the

light of public opinion by either voice, pen, spoken word, or this

booklet, upon this grave miscarriage of justice.