The Truth.


    By Francis William Lauderdale Adams

     Come then, let us at least know what’s the truth.
        Let us not blink our eyes and say
     We did not understand; old age or youth
        Benumbed our sense or stole our sight away.

     It is a lie – just that, a lie – to declare
        That wages are the worth of work.
     No; they are what the Employer wills to spare
        To let the Employee sheer starvation shirk.

     They’re the life-pittance Competition leaves,
        The least for which brother’ll slay brother.
     He who the fruits of this hell-strife receives,
        He is a thief, an assassin, and none other!

     It is a lie – just that, a lie – to declare
        That Rent’s the interest on just gains.
     Rent’s the thumb-screw that makes the worker share
        With him who worked not the produce of his pains.

     Rent’s the wise tax the human tape-worm knows.
        The fat he takes; the life-lean leaves.
     The holy Landlord is, as we suppose,
        Just this – the model of assassin-thieves!

     What is the trick the rich-man, then, contrives?
        How play my lords their brilliant roles? –
     They live on the plunder of our toiling lives,
        The degradation of our bodies and souls!

 Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893)[1] was an Australian essayist, poet, dramatist, novelist and journalist.

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