In ancient times the beasts were caught
And penned within a noisome sty,
And scraps of food their master brought
For fear his useful beasts might die;
A lash of heavy weight and shape
Discouraged efforts to escape.
The careless hand that flung the food
Could wield the lash with deadly skill,
And often in an angry mood
A beast or two would sometimes kill,
But over this no sleep he'd lose,
More beasts there were than he could use.
The beasts at times by methods crude
Would strive and seek to break away,
Then would the hand withhold the food
And bring the dreaded lash to play.
Submissive then the beasts would stand
And try to lick the masters hand.
But lately to this noisome sty
A stranger beast an entrance sought,
With brain alert and shining eye,
A new philosophy he taught;
The toilworn slaves could dimly see
He had some plan to set them free.
The hand that wields the lash is strong,
And learn to lick that hand we must.
Said some who'd lived in sties so long,
They heard his teachings with distrust.
These boneheads, one could plainly see,
Rejoiced in their captivity.
But some were slaves of sharper wit
Though holding views extremely odd,
For even these, I must admit,
Looked on their master as a god.
And they were at a total loss
If Fate deprived them of their boss.
The stranger taught with patience rare,
These slaves of somewhat keener brain;
At some, who'd timidly declare,
"By peaceful means our ends we'll gain,"
The stranger winked and brought to view,
The "Peaceful Means" - A Wooden Shoe.
The Wooden Shoe
Jack O'Neill “Cressset” in Direct Action December 1915
