| |
| COME hither lads and hearken, | |
| for a tale there is to tell, | |
| Of the wonderful days a-coming, | |
| when all shall be better than well. | |
| |
| And the tale shall be told of a country, | 5 |
| a land in the midst of the sea, | |
| And folk shall call it England | |
| in the days that are going to be. | |
| |
| There more than one in a thousand, | |
| in the days that are yet to come, | 10 |
| Shall have some hope of the morrow, | |
| some joy of the ancient home. | |
| |
| For then—laugh not, but listen | |
| to this strange tale of mine— | |
| All folk that are in England | 15 |
| shall be better lodged than swine. | |
| |
| Then a man shall work and bethink him, | |
| and rejoice in the deeds of his hand; | |
| Nor yet come home in the even | |
| too faint and weary to stand. | 20 |
| |
| Men in that time a-coming | |
| shall work and have no fear | |
| For to-morrow’s lack of earning, | |
| and the hunger-Wolf anear. | |
| |
| I tell you this for a wonder, | 25 |
| that no man then shall be glad | |
| Of his fellow’s fall and mishap, | |
| to snatch at the work he had. | |
| |
| For that which the worker winneth | |
| shall then be his indeed, | 30 |
| Nor shall half be reaped for nothing | |
| by him that sowed no seed. | |
| |
| Oh, strange new wonderful justice! | |
| But for whom shall we gather the gain? | |
| For ourselves and for each of our fellows, | 35 |
| and no hand shall labor in vain. | |
| |
| Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, | |
| and no more shall any man crave | |
| For riches that serve for nothing | |
| but to fetter a friend for a slave. | 40 |
| |
| And what wealth then shall be left us, | |
| when none shall gather gold | |
| To buy his friend in the market, | |
| and pinch and pine the sold? | |
| |
| Nay, what save the lovely city, | 45 |
| and the little house on the hill, | |
| And the wastes and the woodland beauty, | |
| and the happy fields we till; | |
| |
| And the homes of ancient stories, | |
| the tombs of the mighty dead; | 50 |
| And the wise men seeking out marvels, | |
| and the poet’s teeming head; | |
| |
| And the painter’s hand of wonder, | |
| and the marvellous fiddle-bow, | |
| And the banded choirs of music: | 55 |
| all those that do and know. | |
| |
| For all these shall be ours and all men’s; | |
| nor shall any lack a share | |
| Of the toil and the gain of living, | |
| in the days when the world grows fair. | 60 |
| |
| Ah! such are the days that shall be! | |
| But what are the deeds of to-day, | |
| In the days of the years we dwell in, | |
| that wear our lives away? | |
| |
| Why, then, and for what are we waiting? | 65 |
| There are three words to speak: | |
| We will it, and what is the foeman | |
| but the dream-strong wakened and weak? | |
| |
| Oh, why and for what are we waiting, | |
| while our brothers droop and die, | 70 |
| And on every wind of the heavens | |
| a wasted life goes by? | |
| |
| How long shall they reproach us, | |
| where crowd on crowd they dwell,— | |
| Poor ghosts of the wicked city, | 75 |
| the gold-crushed hungry hell? | |
| |
| Through squalid life they labored, | |
| in sordid grief they died,— | |
| Those sons of a mighty mother, | |
| those props of England’s pride. | 80 |
| |
| They are gone; there is none can undo it, | |
| nor save our souls from the curse: | |
| But many a million cometh, | |
| and shall they be better or worse? | |
| |
| It is we must answer and hasten, | 85 |
| and open wide the door | |
| For the rich man’s hurrying terror, | |
| and the slow-foot hope of the poor. | |
| |
| Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched, | |
| and their unlearned discontent,— | 90 |
| We must give it voice and wisdom | |
| till the waiting-tide be spent. | |
| |
| Come then, since all things call us, | |
| the living and the dead, | |
| And o’er the weltering tangle | 95 |
| a glimmering light is shed. | |
| |
| Come then, let us cast off fooling, | |
| and put by ease and rest, | |
| For the Cause alone is worthy | |
| till the good days bring the best. | 100 |
| |
| Come, join in the only battle | |
| wherein no man can fail, | |
| Where whoso fadeth and dieth, | |
| yet his deed shall still prevail. | |
| |
| Ah! come, cast off all fooling, | 105 |
| for this, at least, we know: | |
| That the dawn and the day is coming, | |
| and forth the banners go. | |
| |
