Come, workers, sing a rebel song, a song of love and hate, Of love unto the lowly, of hatred to the great - The great who trod our fathers down, who steal our children's bread, Whose hand of greed is stretched to rob the living and the dead. CHORUS: Then sing our rebel song As we proudly sweep along, To end the agelong tyranny which makes for human tears; Our march is nearer done With each setting of the sun, For the tyrant's might is passing with the passing of the years. We sing no song of wailing, no song of sighs and tears, High are our hopes and stout our hearts, and banished all our fears; Our flag is raised to heaven, that all the world may see 'Tis Labour's faith that Labour's arm alone can Labour free. Out from the depths of misery we march with hearts aflame With wrath against the rulers false who wreak our manhood's shame; The serf who licks his tyrant's rod may bend forgiving knee, But the slave who breaks his slavery's chain a wrathful man must be. Our army marches onward, its face toward 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 home to banish tyranny from off the face of earth.
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Embro, Embro Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin