Masters, we left you a world to make, the planning was yours to do—
We were the toilers, humble and sad, we gave our faith to you.
And now with a dread in our hearts we stand and gaze at the work of the years—
We have builded a temple with pillars white, ye have stained it with blood and tears!
For our little ones with their teeming hopes ye have roofed the sweatshop den,
And our daughters fair ye have prisoned in the reeking brothel's pen!
And so for the sign of our murdered hopes our blood-red banner see—
We come in the right of our new-born might to set the people free!
Tremble, oh masters—tremble all who live by others' toil—
We come your dungeon walls to raze, your citadel to spoil!