the day was long the night was short the bed was hard and cold still weary are the little ones still weary are the old out of the depths ft we are weary in our from our mother s toil we are bom to weariness as some to gold we will not rise we will not work i nothing the day can give is half so sweet as an hour of sleep better to sleep than live what power can stir these heavy limbs what hope these dull hearts swell what fear more cold what pain more sharp than the life we know so well � � � the slow step that never goes astray � the rustle in the � the shadow in the way � the straining flight � the long pursuit � the steady gain behind � death wearied man and brute and the struggle wild and blind there s a hot breath at the and a tearing as of teeth well do i know the eyes and the dripping jaws beneath there s a at the threshold � there s a scratching at the floor � to work to work in heaven s name the wolf is at the door os the cry for justice by robert old english poet to mortal man great loads allotted be but of all no pack like poverty by charles one of the early french writers author of a theory of social co operation which is still known by his name the present social order is a ridiculous in which portions of the whole are in conflict and acting against the whole we see each class in society desire from interest the misfortune of the other classes placing in every way individual interest in opposition to public good the lawyer wishes and suits particularly among the rich the physician desires sickness the latter would be ruined if everybody died without disease as would the former if all quarrels were settled by the soldier wants a war which will carry off half his comrades and him promotion the wants and want famine to double or the price of grain the the carpenter the want that will bum down a houses to give activity to their branches of business o by english and poet ur our upper class our middle class our lower class out of the depths s by a in which the russian has the spiritual agonies of his race in this scene a poor school teacher voices his despair tl drank his tea at one draught thrust the � � glass on the placed his feet on the edge of the chair and clasping his knees in his hands rested his chin upon them in this pose small sized and as rubber he began the student my former teacher who is now a doctor of medicine a player and a mean fellow all used to tell me whenever i knew my lesson well you re a fine fellow you are an able boy we plain and poor people coming from the of life we must study and study in order to come to the front ahead of everybody russia is in need of wise and honest people try to be such and you will be master of your fate and a useful member of society on us rest the best hopes of the country we are destined to bring into it light truth and so on i believed him the brute and since then about twenty years have elapsed we have grown up but have neither appropriated any wisdom nor brought light into life as before russia is suffering from its disease � a of while we the take pleasure in filling their dense s face wrinkled into a bitter and he began to laugh noiselessly with his lips only i and many others with me we have robbed ourselves for the s the cry for justice sake of saving up something for life desiring to make myself a valuable man i have my individuality in every way possible in order to study and not die of starvation i have for six years in succession taught how to read and write and had to bear a mass of at the hands of various and who me without any earning my bread and tea i could not i had not the time to earn my shoes and i had to turn to charitable institutions with humble for on the strength of my poverty if the could only reckon up how much of the spirit they kill in man while the life of his body if they only knew that each they give for bread contains ninety nine worth of poison for the soul if they could only burst from excess of their kindness and pride which they draw from their holy activity there is no one on earth more disgusting and repulsive tl n he who gives even as there is no one so miserable as he who them lit of from the farther adventures of robinson by daniel english and many times imprisoned for upon the authorities t saw the world round me one part laboring for � � � bread and the other part in vile excess pr empty pleasures equally miserable because the end they proposed still fled from them for the man of out of the depths g every day of his vice and heaped up work for sorrow and repentance and the man of labor spent his strength in daily struggling for bread to maintain the vital strength he labored with so living in a daily circulation of sorrow living but to work and working but to live as if daily bread were the only end of a wearisome life and a wearisome life the only occasion of daily bread from a man s world by pen name of arthur american and after all what good were these settlement workers again and again this question 