Classic Poem

With dismal eyes of tearless gloom
They gnash their teeth beside the loom:
“Germany, lo! o'er the shuttle bowed,
Of a threefold curse we weave thy shroud—
We are weaving, weaving!

“A curse for the idol we knelt to in vain,
In winter's cold and hunger's pain;
We waited and hoped, to patience schooled,
But he only mocked, and jeered, and fooled—
We are weaving, weaving!

“A curse for the king, the rich man's king,
Whose heart our misery could not wring:
Who took our pennies and squeezed us dry,
And let us be shot, like dogs to die—
We are weaving, weaving!

“A curse for the Fatherland false and base,
Where nothing can fatten but disgrace;
Where crushed is each flower's tender form,
And decay and corruption feed the worm—
We are weaving, weaving!

“The shuttle flies in the roaring loom;
By day and by night we weave the doom.
Old Germany, lo! o'er our labour bowed,
Of a threefold curse we weave thy shroud.
We are weaving, weaving!”