Me have ye gaoled and chained and burned,
I have writhed in bitter agony;
I have wasted to death for liberty;—
But how to slay me ye never learned.

I have gnawed my fingers lacking food;
I have rotted in dungeons dank, forlorn;
My flesh in shreds vultures have torn
And feasted in the martyr's blood.

And I have been one running sore
Under the lash, my life's blood lost.
And oft my carcass, ocean-tossed,
From ocean-deeps was washed ashore.

But from my ashes to new birth
I rise again, I rise from death;
My soul, returning home to earth,
Builds a new body for its breath.

I went, I come, I shall not rest;
I will eat through the whole world's chains;
I will dry the tears of all oppressed,—
The last of tears for the last of pains.

How shall I dry the tears of woe,
Tears of oppressed and humbled slaves!
Down with the tyrant's purple show!
To your graves, princes! Down to your graves!

Down! And be ancient wrongs forgot,
And cleansed be all hearts of pride,
When, in their blood-stained graves to rot,
Your heads and crowns fall side by side!