Scorn ye their hopes, their tears, their inward prayers?
I say unto you, see that your souls live
A deeper life than theirs.

The co-operative movement is delivering over the shaping of the
rural life of Ireland, and the building up of its rural civilization,
into the hands of Irish farmers. The old order of things has left
Ireland unlovely. But if we do not passionately strive to build
it better, better for the men, for the women, for the children, of
what worth are we? We continually come across the phrase "the
dull Saxon" in our Irish papers, it crops up in the speeches of
our public orators, but it was an English poet who said:

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

And it was the last great, poet England has produced, who had so
much hope for humanity in his country that in his latest song he
could mix earth with heaven, and say that to human eyes:

Shall shine the traffic of Jacob's ladder
Hung betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.

Shall we think more meanly of the future of Ireland than these "dull
Saxons" think of the future of their island? Shall we be content
with humble crumbs fallen from the table of life, and sit like
beggars waiting only for what the commonwealth can do for us,