The Revolutionist.

Maoriland Worker, Volume 2, Issue 74, 9 August 1912, Page 2

The Revolutionist.

By H. E. HOLLAND. [For THE MAOEILAND WORKEB.I His path is up Life's dizzy steep, And, oh! his world-worn feet are sore. Hβ treads the brink of chasms deep, Where Death's white torrents foam and roar. And while he climbs Night spreads a paU Dread o'er the rugged, rock-strewn way, And shades of gloom for ever fallWhere is no light, where is no day. Bloodhounds of Wrong bay on his track, Gaunt wolves of Want glide through the gloom, The traitor's dagger seeks Tiis back — Behind is Death; in front, the Tomb. The gibbet marks the way for him, And for the frowning dungeon throws Athwart the dark its blackness grim, To speak the triumph of his foes. ' Titanic storms burst through the Night, World-winds sweep down the Timeworn ways, The tall trees moan in wild affright, And Superstition shrieks—and prays. But past the gloom and past the night, Past chasms dread and rock-cliffs drear, He sees the gleam of Hope's faint light, He dreams that Freedom's dawn is near. And high above Lite's storm his song Re-echoes all the death-swept way; He hurls defiance at the Wrong, And dimbs the hills to meet the day. From the Gospel according to Fat: "Blessed are the piece-shakers." • . i ■ Thirty millions of people are suffering in Russia for want of food. In other parts of the world food is being deliberately destroyed to keep up prices. Such is capitalism!