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THE GRUNTER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: If you're complaining of your task, and sighing
Last Line: His wages, will land some morning at the dump, and there he'll stay for ages.
Subject(s): Industrial Workers Of The World (i.w.w.); Labor & Laborers; Labor Unions; Wages; Work; Workers; Salaries


IF you're complaining of your task, and sighing as you labor, I greatly fear
you'll never bask in Easy street, my neighbor. The world is seeking willing
hands to keep its pulleys turning; it will pass up the gent who stands, for soft

employment yearning. The man who drops away behind, who cannot make the riffle,

keeps talking of the dreary grind, and all that sort of piffle. The man who
gayly does his work, pretending to enjoy it, who, be his tool a spade or dirk,
will cheerfully employ it, who, though he may be feeling dead, will never make
confession, is he who marches at the head of industry's procession. The man who

grunts whene'er he swings his fountain pen or hammer, who never smiles and never

sings, or makes a cheerful clamor, who never will consent to hump until he sees

his wages, will land some morning at the dump, and there he'll stay for ages.





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