Sing for the day that is ours—
For the gods who are here,
Titans whose strength is greater
Than snake-strangling Hercules!
Sing for the gods of the oppressed,
The cleansers of slums,
The Christs of great Golgothas
Mounded of old wrongs
Hurting the people!
Sing for the smiters of tenements—
Lairs of disease, of the white death!
Sing for the slayers of sweat-shop owners—
The taskmasters of children!
Sing for the guardians of girls,
The saviours of modern Madonnas—
Custodians of wells unpolluted
For the renewal of men!
Sing for the wielders of axe and the hammer;
The gods of the crowbar and shovel;
For those who go down to the sea in ships,
Having their business in the great waters;
For those who find out a path
Which no fowl knoweth,
Which the lion's whelps tread not—
The veins of the silver and gold,
Of the carbonized sunlight and laughter!
Sing for the prophets of labour,
Rebukers of Ahab greedy of gardens
Delved and possessed by another!
Sing for the women who claim the lost title:
"Comrade and equal of Man,"
Women who strike from their sisters
Æonian fetters of custom,
Bidding them stand and be free from their masters!
Sing for the priests of the Lord's House,
Who lift up the vessels thereof with clean hands,
Knowing great Christ when He cometh,
Truthful interpreters of signs and of omens!