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F. G. Thompson

Poem: The Bottom Dog

    He loved his master dearly in the days of long ago ;

       His dirty kennel and his scanty food

    To him were blessings, and he sought no other things to know,

       And all the world looked on and called it good.

    But now, because this canine dares to bark for something more,

       The masters curse him for a greedy hog,

    And wish that they could kick him as they did in days of yore,

       To teach him he is but the Bottom Dog.

 

    In days of old when foreign thieves his master’s house would spoil,

       He thought it but his duty and his "bis,"

    To guard his master's property—the fruits of others' toil,

Poem: 'The Question'

    What is a Labour man? He who has sold

    His class and their Cause in the shambles of Gold,

    For pelf, and a place in the council of Greed,

    Weaving snares for those dupes Want and Ignorance breed,

    Where the offspring of Toil, from the cot to the grave,

    Are consigned to the mart of the modern wage-slave.

 

    Here "organised Labour" support and applaud

    The Thugs of all progress, Cant, Falsehood and Fraud;

    And, like autumn leaves borne on the blast of the storm,

    They are whirled in the vortex of futile reform.

    Against the class currents they struggle in vain,

    Till they sink, where no trace of their efforts remain.

 

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