And the chains of oppression are utterly broken
When she smites men’s hearts with her fiery hand!
Her old cause sleeps. To her new cause splendid
I carry my palm like a flag unfurled;
To the march that ends and is never ended!
To Freedom’s drums in the blood of the world!
So was it once when my Father thundered.
So shall it be until Man is grass.
Peace, old friends, for the night is sundered,
And with morn the leaping bayonets pass!