The Proletarian Writer Is A Writer With

They Were The Triumphant And Insolent Possessors; They Had A Hall, And A Fire, And Food And Clothing And Money, And So They Might Preach To Hungry Men, And The Hungry Men Must Be Humble And Listen. They Were Trying To Save Their Souls- And Who But A Fool Could Fail To See That All That Was The Matter With Their Souls Was That They Had Not Managed To Get A Decent Existence For Their Bodies?

Into This Wild-beast Tangle These Men Had Been Born Without Their Consent, They Had Taken Part In It Because They Could Not Help It; That They Were In Jail Was No Disgrace To Them, For The Game Had Never Been Fair, The Dice Were Loaded. They Were Swindlers And Thieves Of Pennies And Dimes, And They Had Been Trapped And Put Out Of The Way By The Swindlers And Thieves Of Millions Of Dollars.

Wall Street Had Been Doing Business With Pieces Of Paper; And Now Someone Asked For A Dollar, And It Was Discovered That The Dollar Had Been Mislaid.

Consider Christmas - Could Satan In His Most Malignant Mood Have Devised A Worse Combination Of Graft Plus Bunkum Than The System Whereby Several Hundred Million People Get A Billion Or So Gifts For Which They Have No Use, And Some Thousands Of Shop Clerks Die Of Exhaustion While Selling Them, And Every Other Child In The Western World Is Made Ill From Overeating - All In The Name Of The Lowly Jesus?

Turn Over The Pages Of History And Read The Damning Record Of The Church's Opposition To Every Advance In Every Field Of Science. . . .