Volume 104 — OUT OF WORK.

Divines inform us that the Primal Curse On poor humanity was Compulsory Work; But Civilisation has devised a worse, Which even Christian effort seems to shirk. The Worker's woes love may assuage. Ah, yes! But what shall help Compulsory Worklessness? Not Faith—Hope—Charity even! All the Graces Are helpless, without Wisdom in high places. Though liberal alms relieve the kindly soul, You can't cure destitution by a dole. No, these are days when men must dare to try What a Duke calls—Argyll the high-and-dry— "The Unseen Foundations of Society"; And not, like wealthy big-wigs, be content With smart attacks on "Theories of Rent." Most theories of rent we know, the fact is What we have doubts about, Duke, is—the practice! When Rent in Power's hands becomes a rack To torture Toil, bold wisdom will hark back To the beginnings and the bases; ask What hides beneath that Economic mask Which smiles unmoved by Sorrow's strain and stress On half-starved Work and whole-starved Worklessness!