Classic Poem

The tyrant's chains are only strong
While slaves submit to wear them;
And who could bind them on the throng
Determined not to bear them?

Then clank your chain, e'en though the links
Were light as fashion's feather,
The heart which rightly thinks and feels
Would cast them altogether.

The lords of earth are only great
While others clothe and feed them!
But what were all their pride and state,
Should labor cease to heed them?

We toil, we spin, we delve the mine,
Sustaining each his neighbor;
And who can show a right divine
To rob us of our labor?
We rush to battle, wear our lot
In every ill and danger;
And who shall make the peaceful cot
To homely joy a stranger?

Perish all tyrants far and near,
Beneath the claims that bind us;
And perish, too, that servile fear
Which makes the slaves they find us.
One grand, one universal claim,
One peal of moral thunder,
One glorious burst in Freedom's name,
And rend our bonds asunder!