Industrial Workers of the World

The Rebel in Verse

1) 1901ish - Excert from William Siebenhaar's Dorothea

Is it remembrance of that king of sages,
    Who dwelt outside the range of my cognition
Till recently;  who for the people wages
    War like a prophet?  He who from tuition
Of thinkers of all regions and all ages
    Has drawn the wisdom and strong volition
        To be a guide to the forsaken herd
        Of poverty, by precept, act, and word?

A carpenter, in yonder little town
    He lives, whither this day my steps are bound.
In mental youth he wears the silver crown
    Of his advancing years.  In him is found
A fresh receptiveness, which passes down
    To my morose stagnation like the sound
        Of waking forests, and afar enthrals me,
        As if once more the worlds high battle calls me.

Follow me, follow me,
    Over the wildwood,
Through the blue distance,
    Far far away !
Past the sair vision-land
    Dreamt of in childhood,
Unto existence
    Of action and fray !

Fresh is the atmasphere,
    Light are the spaces;
Strongly the soul yet
    Rises on high;
Liberty beckons her,
    If she but faces
Bravely the goal yet,
    Though life passes by.

Follow me, follow me,
    Thought will uplift thee,
Solitude guide thee
     In the dark maze !
Unto Elysium
    Wander I swiftly:
Come, who beside me
        Sunward may gaze !

So sings the voice of high intent, with mighty
    Persuasiveness, while still my steps continue.
But now the home and word of him invite me,
    Whome I have sought; the man whose soul and sinue
Alike are strong; whose speach is never flighty,
    But truthful whether it estrange or win you
        And from whose presence I have ever brought
        Some keen-edged crystals of his clearest thought.

With what affectionate regard he speaks
    Of his loved teacher Emerson, in this
Proving the influence of whoso seeks
    The truth and gives it utterance;  it is
Like voices calling from the furthest peaks
    Of soul-life !  In th' enlightened spherre of his
        High mind I dwell with rapture ...


2 - Poem written about imprisonment - Perth "Truth" 10/11/1917

Montague Miller

Old 'Monty' take this simple lay
"We loved the best who knew the best."
Like gale-borne dust, or wind-wrung spray,
Thy soul must vanish like the rest.
Thy thought was ever crystal clear,
The mystics' speech was ever thine
Like drifting craft on tideless mere
Like beaded bubbles on the wine.
Thy voice was like the thunder hurled
O'er beetling crags of Sinai
When God's command inspired the world,
And only Mosses kneeling by.
Thy touch was light as thistle down,
And fair thy faith as graceful fawn
Thy manhood type of fair renown
And clean as dewdrops on the lawn.
They goaled thy carcase - but thy soul
No bars or stripes could ever shame;
Thou art the symbol of the whole
That gives the living martyr fame.
You had the "Maiden of the Graille"
When lying in the felons' cell.
And "Dorothea," known as "Bill"
Both you and I admired them well.
And Malachi, and Bradburne too,
The charmed circle oft' would greet,
On Sabbath eves in Barrack Street.
Claved Thompson too, who chaperoned
The mistress of old Warwicks pile
"Like Alpine peak and lowly mound"
"Mid Socialistic Congress guile".
So take this homage, Montague,
Though all are called, the kings are few,
And none more kingly kind than you.
        Hermes      (Jack O'Neill?)
            Naretha