From the N. Y. World.

   All hail the dawn of a new day breaking,
      When the strong-armed nation shall take away
   The weary burdens from backs that are aching
      With maximum labor and minimum pay;
   When no man is honored who hoards his millions;
      When no man feasts on another's toil.
   And God's poor suffering, striving billions
      Shall share His riches of sun and soil.
 
   There is gold for all in the earth's broad bosom,
      There is food for all in the land's great store,
   Enough is provided if rightly divided;
      Let each man take what he needs--no more.
   Shame on the miser with unused riches,
      Who robs the toiler to swell his hoard,
   Who beats down the wage of the digger of ditches
      And steals the bread from the poor man's board.
 
   Shame on the owner of mines whose cruel
      And selfish measures have brought him wealth,
   While the ragged wretches who dig his fuel
      Are robbed of comfort and hope and health.
 
   Shame on the ruler who rides in his carriage
      Bought with the labor of half paid men--
   Men who are shut out of home and marriage
      And are horded like sheep in a hovel pen.
 
   Let the clarion voice of the nation wake him
      To broader vision and fairer play;
   Or let the hand of a just law shake him
      Till his ill-gained dollars shall roll away.
   Let no man dwell under a mountain of plunder,
      Let no man suffer with want and cold ;
   We want right living, not mere alms-giving ;
      We want just dividing of labor and gold.

                          Ella Wheeler Wilcox.