Organised strength, solidarity, power to band and to strike,
Hope that is native to Spring,—and Hate, in all seasons alike;
Mutual trust of the many—and menace malign for the few.
Citizen, capitalist,—ah! the hours of your empire seem few,
An empire ill-gendered, unjust, blindly selfish, and heartlessly strong
For the crushing of famishing weakness, the rearing of wealth-founded wrong.
Few, if these throngs have their will, for the fierce proletariat throbs
For revenge on the full-fed Bourgeoisie which ruthlessly harries and robs.
'Tis fired with alarms, and it arms with hot haste for the imminent fray,
For it quakes at the tramp of King Mob, and the thought of this Queen of the May.