My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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SONG OF THE RED REPUBLICAN. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
252
SONG OF THE RED REPUBLICAN.
Fling out the red Banner! its fiery front under,
Come, gather ye, gather ye, Champions of Right!
And roll round the world, with the voice of God's thunder,
The Wrongs we've to reckon, Oppressions to smite.
They deem that we strike no more like the old Hero-band,
Victory's own battle-hearted and brave:
Once more brothers mine, it were sweet but to see ye stand,
Triumph or Tomb welcome, Glory or Grave!
Come, gather ye, gather ye, Champions of Right!
And roll round the world, with the voice of God's thunder,
The Wrongs we've to reckon, Oppressions to smite.
They deem that we strike no more like the old Hero-band,
Victory's own battle-hearted and brave:
Once more brothers mine, it were sweet but to see ye stand,
Triumph or Tomb welcome, Glory or Grave!
Fling out the red Banner! in mountain and valley
Let Earth feel the tread of the Free once again;
Now soldiers of Liberty make on more rally,
Old Earth yearns to know that her children are Men.
We are nerved by a thousand wrongs, burning and bleeding;
Bold Thoughts leap to birth, but the bold Deeds must come;
And wherever Humanity's yearning and pleading,
One battle for Liberty strike we heart-home.
Let Earth feel the tread of the Free once again;
Now soldiers of Liberty make on more rally,
Old Earth yearns to know that her children are Men.
We are nerved by a thousand wrongs, burning and bleeding;
Bold Thoughts leap to birth, but the bold Deeds must come;
And wherever Humanity's yearning and pleading,
One battle for Liberty strike we heart-home.
Fling out the red Banner! achievements immortal
Have yet to be won by the hands labour-brown;
Though few of us enter the proud promise-portal,
Yet wear it in thought like a glorious Crown!
O joy of the onset! sound trumpet! array us;
True hearts would leap up were all hell in our path;
Up, up from the Slave-land; who stirreth to stay us,
Shall fall, as of old, in a Red Sea of wrath.
Have yet to be won by the hands labour-brown;
Though few of us enter the proud promise-portal,
Yet wear it in thought like a glorious Crown!
253
True hearts would leap up were all hell in our path;
Up, up from the Slave-land; who stirreth to stay us,
Shall fall, as of old, in a Red Sea of wrath.
Fling out the red Banner, O Sons of the morning!
Young spirits awaiting to burst into wings,—
We stand shadow-crowned, but sublime is the warning,
All heaven's grimly hushed, and the Bird of Storm sings!
“All's well,” saith the Sentry on Tyranny's tower,
While Hope by his watch-fire is gray and tear-blind;
Ay all's well! Freedom's Altar burns, hour by hour,
Live brands for the fire-damp with which ye are mined.
Young spirits awaiting to burst into wings,—
We stand shadow-crowned, but sublime is the warning,
All heaven's grimly hushed, and the Bird of Storm sings!
“All's well,” saith the Sentry on Tyranny's tower,
While Hope by his watch-fire is gray and tear-blind;
Ay all's well! Freedom's Altar burns, hour by hour,
Live brands for the fire-damp with which ye are mined.
Fling out the red Banner! the Patriots perish,
But where their bones whiten the seed striketh root:
Their blood hath run red the great harvest to cherish:
Now gather ye, Reapers, and garner the fruit.
Victory! victory! Tyrants are quaking!
The Titan of Toil from the bloody thrall starts;
The Slaves are awaking, the dawn-light is breaking,
The foot-fall of Freedom beats quick at our hearts!
But where their bones whiten the seed striketh root:
Their blood hath run red the great harvest to cherish:
Now gather ye, Reapers, and garner the fruit.
Victory! victory! Tyrants are quaking!
The Titan of Toil from the bloody thrall starts;
The Slaves are awaking, the dawn-light is breaking,
The foot-fall of Freedom beats quick at our hearts!
| My Lyrical Life | |