|
|
 |
|
Titles on this page: 1. We Only Want the Earth 2. A Rebel Song 3. Love of Freedom
4. The Watchword of Labour |
|
This little book of revolutionary songs is published for a twofold purpose. First, it is in response to the belief of the Editor that no revolutionary movement is complete without its poetical expression. If such a movement has caught hold of the imagination of the masses they will seek a vent in song for the aspirations, the fears and the hopes, the loves and the hatreds engendered by the struggle. Until the movement is marked by the joyous, defiant, singing of revolutionary songs, it lacks one of the most distinctive marks of a popular revolutionary movement, it is the dogma of a few, and not the faith of the multitude. In this belief this small bouquet of songs, culled from a very limited garden, is offered until some one with greater means shall present to the American Working Class a more suitable collection, drawn not from the store of one nation alone, but from the Socialist poetry of the World. The propagandist effect of such a volume of songs with their proper musical setting, would be simply incalculable.
The second purpose of this volume may be readily guessed by a glance at its contents. It will be seen that every song herein contained was written by an Irishman.
This is in no spirit of insularity, but rather is meant as an encouragement to other Irishmen and women, to take their part and do their share in the upbuilding of the revolutionary movement of the Working Class. Most of these songs were written in Ireland, by men actually engaged in the revolutionary struggle of their time, whatever ruggedness may attach to their numbers is due to the fact that they were born in the stress and strain of the fight, and not in the scholarly seclusion of the study.
In conclusion, if this venture meets approval, we will carry our next into the field of recitative poetry, where a rich Irish harvest awaits the gleaner.
|
|
|
| Some men, faint-hearted, ever seek
Our programme to retouch,
And will insist, whene'er they speak
That we demand too much.
'Tis passing strange, yet I declare
Such statements give me mirth, |
|
For our demands most moderate are,
We only want the earth.
|
|
"Be moderate," the trimmers cry,
Who dread the tyrants' thunder.
"You ask too much and people By
From you aghast in wonder."
'Tis passing strange, for I declare
Such statements give me mirth,
For our demands most moderate are,
We only want the earth. |
|
Our masters all a godly crew,
Whose hearts throb for the poor,
Their sympathies assure us, too,
If our demands were fewer.
Most generous souls! But please observe,
What they enjoy from birth
Is all we ever had the nerve
To ask, that is, the earth.
|
|
The "labour fakir" full of guile,
Base doctrine ever preaches,
And whilst he bleeds the rank and file
Tame moderation teaches.
Yet, in despite, we'll see the day
When, with sword in its girth,
Labour shall march in war array
To realize its own, the earth. |
|
| For labour long, with sighs and tears,
To its oppressors knelt.
But never yet, to aught save fears,
Did the heart of tyrant melt.
We need not kneel, our cause no dearth
Of loyal soldiers' needs
And our victorious rallying cry
Shall be we want the earth!
|
|
From Songs of Freedom, 1907
|
| |
|
|
|
Come workers sing a rebel song,
A song of love and hate,
Of love unto the lowly
And of hatred to the great.
The great who trod our fathers down,
Who steal our children's bread,
Whose hands of greed are stretched to rob
The living and the dead.
|
|
|
Then sing our rebel song as we
proudly sweep along
To end the age-old tyranny
that makes for human tears.
Our march is nearer done,
with each setting of the sun.
And the tyrants' might is passing
with the passing of the years.
|
|
We sing no more of wailing
And no songs of sighs or tears;
High are our hopes and stout our hearts
And banished all our fears.
Our flag is raised above us
So that all the world may see,
'Tis Labour's faith and Labour's arm
Alone can Labour free.
|
|
|
|
Out of the depths of misery
We march with hearts aflame;
With wrath against the rulers false
Who wreck our manhood's name.
The serf who licks the tyrant's rod
May bend forgiving knee;
The slave who breaks his slavery's chain
A wrathful man must be.
|
|
|
|
Our army marches onward
With its face towards the dawn,
In trust secure in that one thing
The slave may lean upon.
The might within the arm of him
Who knowing freedom's worth,
Strikes hard to banish tyranny
From off the face of earth.
|
|
|
|
From The Socialist, May 1903
|
|
|
|
I love you, I love you, though toil may obscure
And make dimmer the light of my eye,
Though slow runs my blood, and my heart, if as pure
Beats calmer when women are nigh.
Yet out from my heart comes a passionate wail
With a note of sincerity true,
The protest of my heart, though its vigour may fail,
Yet beats stronger its love, dear, for you.
|
|
I love you, I love you, no swain to his dear,
Nor mother to first fruit of her womb,
Nor thinker to thought he has garnered in tear,
Prom the deserts where Truth hid in gloom,
Hath love more devoted, more unfailing than he
Now laying this poor wreath at thy shrine
In hope that accepted this offering will be
And remembered when victory is thine.
|
|
Yes, Freedom, I love you, my soul thou has fired
With the flame that redeems from the clay,
Thou hast given to me, as to Moses inspired,
A glimpse of that land, bright as day,
Which Labour must journey, though each foot of road
Sweated blood from the graves of our best,
Where built upon Justice and Truth the abode
Thou preparest awaits the oppress.
|
| |
From Workers' Republic, 8 April 1915
|
|
|
|
Oh, hear ye the watchword of Labour,
the slogan of those who'd be free,
That no more to any enslaver
must Labour bend suppliant knee,
That we on whose shoulders are borne
the pomp and the pride of the great,
Whose toil they repay with their scorn,
must challenge and master our fate.
|
| |
|
|
Then send it aloft t on the breeze boys,
That watchword the grandest we've known
That Labour must rise from its knees, boys,
And claim the broad earth as its own.
|
|
Aye, we who oft won by our velour,
empires for our rulers and lords,
Yet knelt in abasement and squalor
to things we had made with our swords,
Now velour with worth will be blending,
when answering Labour's command,
We arise from our knees and ascending
to manhood for freedom take stand.
|
|
|
|
Then out from the field and the city
from workshop, from mill and from mine,
Despising their wrath and their pity,
we workers are moving in line,
To answer the watchword and token
that Labour gives forth as its own,
Nor pause till our fetters we've broken,
and conquered the spoiler and drone.
|
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
We Only Want the Earth
Some men, faint-hearted, ever seek
Our programme to retouch,
And will insist, whene'er they speak
That we demand too much.
'Tis passing strange, yet I declare
Such statements give me mirth.
For our demands most moderate are,
We only want the earth.
Read the full song
|
|
|
