The Melbourne Riots

Come lads, rouse yourselves, for the night is grown darker,The sad cry of anguish is louder than yore,The victims of labor—of unwanted labor—Are crying at your feet, and their numbers grow more.

'Twas said, in the sweat of his brow, that the toilerShould eat his bread; but, alas, 'tis too trueThat he who toils hardest has least of earth's bounties,Whilst plenty rewards him who toil scorns to do.

Oh, brothers, is this what our fathers have fought for?Is this but the outcome of thousands of yearsOf thinking, and trying, and doing for their fellowsBy lawgivers, scientists, thinkers and seers!

Is man born to live and to die unrewarded?Are all his best efforts to be spent in vain?Shall idleness always enjoy of the good things?Is labor doomed always to toil and complain?

'Tis said that the poor we have with us at all times;Alas for the world, that 'twas so in the past;But, brothers, because we have long suffered evil,Dost follow we should suffer evil to last?

Oh, poor fellow-creatures! so long thy injustice—So long hast thou bent under tyranny's hand—So long hast thou crouched 'neath the whip of thy master,Thou durst not look upright, thou fearest to stand.

Oh, brothers, cast off the dead load of oppressionThat Cunning has heaped upon Labor's strong form—So cunningly heaped that the victim who bears itScarce knows of its presence, except when the storm

Of righteous rebellion breaks out in its fury,And Slavery strikes in its blind frenzied might,And throws at proud Capital, bloated, but helpless,The force of a True Thought, the bombshell of Right.

Alas, ah my brothers, so long used to serfdom,So ready to fawn, and to cringe, and to crawlBefore the vile monster thy toil hath created,The Door of Nothing, the Filcher of all!

Then courage, my brothers, arise in your manhood,Stand firmly together and dare the whole world—A world in which thou hast no claim of possession,The Idler's domain, from which Labor is hurled.

Rise up, and ask not your oppressors for favors,For loans, or for mercy, or justice, or gain;To Hell with Monopoly and its defenders:The world is your own when you dare lay the claim.

In the good old days when the Roman powerHeld sway o'er the human race,And the working millions like oxen toiledIn sorrow and disgrace,The wise men of that day did sayMan should toil thus for ever;But Slavery's day has since passed awayTo return amongst us never.

Chorus.—For Labor shall be free; yes, Labor shall be free;In spite of Mammon's cruel theft—In spite of Law's decree—We'll yet make Labor free—we'll yet make Labor free,O'er all the world we'll brothers be,And Labor shall be free!

But, alas, from the ashes of slavery roseThe lords in their Feudal might,Reducing to serfdom the laboring throngs,And seizing the land as their right.But the Feudal barons and their castles strongAre relics of the past;And the worker's no longer sold with his land—He strives to be free at last.

Chorus—For Labor, etc.

But alas for the day that saw Capital reignWith Labor prostrate at its feet;The indolent few overburdened with wealth,While labor has nothing to eat.The worker is ‘free’? yes, free to starve,

Or work at a tyrant's call!The gold of the idler has bought the whole world:The worker has nothing at all.

Chorus—For Labor, etc.

Then hail to the day when the worker shall say:“The world 'neath my feet is mine,“The wealth in your hands is the fruit of my toil;“Restore it—it is not thine;“The coal and the metals I bring from the mine,“The Engines I make with my brain,“The homes I have built, and the clothing I weave“Are all part of Labor's domain!”

Chorus—For Labor, etc.

And here's a health to all who toilIn this and every land;Whoe'er they be, where'er they roam,We stretch a friendly hand.We know no race, nor creed, nor clan:We fear not Russ or Turk:The only one whom Labor fearsAre they who will not work.

Chorus—For Labor, etc.