Yon Emperor young shall hear, brother, and so shall our gracious Queen,
For Labour's hosts to all civic centres shall gather from far away;
The Champs de Mars shall greet Hyde Park on this glorious First o' May.
The lime is budding forth, brother, lilac our cot embowers,
And the meadows soon shall be a-scent with the snowy hawthorn flowers;
But a bonnier sight shall be the tramping crowds in fustian grey,
Flushed with the Promise o' May, brother, the new-born Promise o' May.
A wind is with their march, brother, that threatens old claims of Class,
And the grey Spring skies above them seem to brighten as they pass.
Pray heaven there'll be no drop o' rain the whole of the live-long day,