O ye beguilable humanitarians

International Socialist Review2Begging! — For Work.


A man beseeching fellowman for work, for a chance to earn the means to keep the life within his frame, within the form of him or her he loves!

What curst conditions cause such scene and fact to be?

O sight more fit to stir Omnipotence on High to slaying-wrath than all the wars or brothels, thefts or lies, murders or suicides from time of Cain till now!

Here is the war, in guise of peace, that slaughters, hour by hour, its unreported hecatombs — and leaves the widows pensionless;

Here is the prostitution (of the Soul) — more damn’d than harlotry’s most damn’d and unrestrained debauch;

Here is the theft that beggars world-accumulated theft — the theft that makes the victim cringe low to the thief;

Here is the lie all lies above:  “This work is mine to give, withhold;”

Here is the murder of a MAN — how insignificant the slaughter and mutilation of the body now appears;

Here is the suicide of many souls, — asphyxiated by a sophistry of thieves:  “‘Tis in my purse — ’tis therefore mine!”


A man beseeching work from fellowman?

O ye beguilable humanitarians, still striving to stop leaking when bottom’s out, unstop the ears, — hark to the sounds; tear open eyes, — behold the sights, and know the hour for patching’s past.

O ye Peace-pleaders, painstakingly persistent, spending strength and skill in striking plumes, gold-lace and epaulettes from much be-Captained and be-General’d rampant murderers, — strike at the steed, strike at the steed!  and level all.


A man beseeching fellow man for work.

Come!  Gaze within the crowded room where hundreds slave with feverish speed past strength’s exhaustion point.

Come!  Gaze where they find rest — the asylum for insane, the unmarkt grave.


My brother has been sent away with harsh reply:  “WE HAVE NO WORK FOR YOU.”


Great is thy patience O Omnipotence, that sends not Death — most sudden Death — to devastate this world to bring relief to poor whom life brings naught; to bring the end of much-prized life to rich whom it gives all — but love for fellowman.

Edward Arnold Brenholtz.


From pages 273 – 274 of the November 1, 1902 edition of The International Socialist Review (purchased at an estate sale on October 5, 2013 by Monsieur d’Nalgar).

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