To foreigners in San Francisco, greeting.
When you see a labor-leader fiercely beating
The air with all his fingers to betoken
His view of this or that ere yet ’tis spoken—
When you see him, as in dancing, foot it featly
To manifest dissent the more completely—
When you hear him in a tempest of emotion
Deflate himself of some unpeaceful notion,
Don’t prophesy a blazing revolution;
Don’t drag the guillotine from its seclusion;
Don’t whistle up a storm of blood and thunder,
To fill the world with horror, fear and wonder!
He’s dreadful in defining his position,
He’s terrible in threatening sedition—
And a Past Grand Master of Submission.
Public-domain source text
Judge Not
by Ambrose Bierce
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