"I've paid for all my hundred dead, "I've paid for wooden hall and stair, "Your fat inspectors came and came- The District Leader filled a glass And well he knew that he must give The thing that he had sold, Else men should doubt the System's word, Keep back the System's gold. The whiskey burned beneath his tongue: I "A hundred women dead! guess the Boss can fix it up, Go home and hide," he said. All day they brought the bodies down And oh, the fearful touch of flame On hand and breast and face! All day the white-lipped mothers came And Horror strode the blackened walls, But Max Rogosky did not weep. (A tragedy at Coal Creek, Tennessee, May 19, 1902) HE lord of us he lay in his bed THE Good right had he, good right! The master knew of our danger well, We also knew-we knew. His greed for profits had served him well, But he over-reached him, as fate befell, Death's horrors I lived through The master dreamed, mayhap, of his gold, Buried alive in the black earth's mold; Letters they wrote of farewell-farewell, What words of comfort could they tell- The master cursed, as masters do- But the fear of our vengeance stirred him, too; |