uld have them all taught to play and to sing. I
would have them all trained to athletics and to arms. I would have
public halls of science. I would have the people become their own
artists, actors, musicians, soldiers, and police. Then, by degrees, I
would make all these things free."[72] In the words of the Socialist
poet--

We'll grow up true men and women
And enjoy life from our birth.[73]

Men, being no longer compelled to work hard for a living, will lose
the desire for wealth and all that wealth supplies and will devote
themselves more and more to the culture of their mind. "Under
Socialism the possession of riches will cease to be a ruling passion,
for honest labour will be a guarantee against want, and riches will no
longer be the passport to social position. Under such conditions the
possession of riches will be a superfluous burden which no sane man
will wish to bear."[74] "When land and capital are the common property
of all the people, class distinctions, as we know them at present,
will no longer exist. The Mind will then be the standard by which a
man's place among his fellows will be determined."[75] Hence
"Socialism means the elevation of the struggle for existence from the
material to the intellectual plane. Socialism will raise the struggle
for existence into a sphere where competition shall be emulation,
where the treasures are boundless and eternal, and where the abundant
wealth of one does not cause the poverty of another."[76]

The poet has described in a vision this phase of the golden age of
Socialism as follows:

A strain of distant music
Floats on the gentle breeze,
Its captivating sweetness
Bends e'en the proudest knees;
Now soft as angel whispers,
Then, loud as trumpet's blast
It sounds the knell of sorrows
And pains for ever past.

Now sweeter and more varied,
The music doth appear;
Ten thousand harps Aeolian
Seem to be drawing near.
Ten thousand angels' voices
Are mingled with the strain,
Chanting the song of Freedom--
Justice has come to reign;

Telling of bounteous harvests,
Of waving golden corn,
Waiting the reaper's sickle,
And asking to be shorn;
Lands rich with milk and honey
Promised in days of yore;
Asking all those that hunger
To eat and faint no more.

The song grows loud and mighty
As thunder in the storm,
The tyrant q