I Hope To Live Long Enough To

Little Girls And Boys, Barefooted, Walked Up And Down Between The Endless Rows Of Spindles, Reaching Thin Little Hands Into The Machinery To Repair Snapped Threads

But In Shimabukuro's Hands, As He Breaks Out Experimental Jazz, Lays Down A Steady Blues Train, Or Shreds On Rock Anthems, This Little Jumping Flea Becomes A Melodic Monster.

Your Ancestors Fought For You To Have A Share In That Institution Over There. It's Yours. See The School Board, And Every Friday Night Hold Your Meetings There. Have Your Wives Clean It Up Saturday Morning For The Children To Enter Monday. Your Organization Is Not A Praying Institution. It's A Fighting Institution. It's An Educational Institution Along Industrial Lines. Pray For The Dead And Fight Like Hell For The Living!

Sometimes It Seemed To Me I Could Not Look At Those Silent Little Figures; That I Must Go North, To The Grim Coal Fields, To The Rocky Mountain Camps, Where The Labor Fight Is At Least Fought By Grown Men

I Have Always Advised Men To Read