I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons come
from me and the Lincolns. They die. And then I send forth more Napoleons
and Lincolns.
I am the seed
ground. I am a prairie that will stand for much plowing. Terrible storms
pass over me. I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted. I
forget. Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up
what I have. And I forget.
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red drops for history to remember. Then—I forget.
When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the People, use
the lessons of yesterday and no longer forget who robbed me last year,
who played me for a fool—then there will be no speaker in all the world
say the name: “The People,” with any fleck of a sneer in his voice or
any far-off smile of derision.
The mob—the crowd—the mass—will arrive then.
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