Saith man to man, We've heard and known

That we no master need

To live upon this earth, our own,

In fair and manly deed.

The grief of slaves long passed away

For us hath forged the chain,

Till now each worker's patient day

Builds up the House of Pain.



And we, shall we too, crouch and quail,

Ashamed, afraid of strife,

And lest our lives untimely fail

Embrace the Death in Life?

Nay, cry aloud, and have no fear,

We few against the world;

Awake, arise! the hope we bear

Against the curse is hurled.



It grows and grows--are we the same,

The feeble band, the few?

Or what are these with eyes aflame,

And hands to deal and do?

This is the host that bears the word,

No MASTER HIGH OR LOW -

A lightning flame, a shearing sword,

A storm to overthrow.

