I Am The People The Mob
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.
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 grows, 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.
Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.
The lyrical form of this poem is unrhyming.
Napoleons implies the great military leaders such as Napoleon (Bonaparte) I, emperor of the French(1769-1821)Lincolns implies the great political leaders such as Abraham Lincoln (1809-65), 16th President of
United States.fleck means trace
Carl Sandburg
Other author posts
They Will Say
OF my city the worst that men will ever say is this: You took little children away from the sun and the dew, And the glimmers that played in the grass under the great sky, And the reckless rain; you put them between
Threes
I was a boy when I heard three red words a thousand Frenchmen died in the streets for: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity—I asked why men die for words
Happiness
I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with<br...
Wars
In the old wars drum of hoofs and the beat of shod feet In the new wars hum of motors and the tread of rubber tires In the wars to come silent wheels and whirr of rods not yet dreamed out in the heads of men In the old wars clutches...
