As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day,

A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill-lofts gray

Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,

For the people hear us singing, “Bread and Roses, Bread and Rose.”

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As we come marching, marching, we battle, too, for men—

For they are women’s children and we mother them again.

Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes—

Hearts starve as well as bodies; Give us Bread, but give us Roses!

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-James Oppenheim, 1911