Hark! the battle cry is ringing'
Hope within our bosoms springing,
Bids us journey forward,
Death to tyrants' might!
Though we wield nor spear nor sabre,
We the sturdy sons of labor,
Helping every man his neighbor,
Shrink not from the fight.
See our homes before us,
Wives and babes implore us.
So firm we stand in heart and hand
And swell the dauntless chorus.
Men of labor, young or hoary,
Would ye win a name in story?
Strike for home, for life, for glory,
Justice, freedom, right.
Long in wrath and desperation,
Long in hunger, shame, privation,
Have we born the degradation,
Of the rich man's spite.
Now disdaining, useless sorrow,
Hope from brighter thoughts we'll borrow;
Often shines the fairest morrow,
After stormiest night.
Tyrant hearts, take warning,
Nobler days are dawning;
Heroic deeds, sublimer creeds,
Shall herald freedom's morning!
(To the melody of Men of Harlech)
H. S. Salt
Socialist Songs, Local Berks County, Socialist Party, 1900, p. 17