Be Moderate

Some men, faint-hearted, ever seek
Our programme to retouch,
And will insist, when’er they speak
That we demand too much.
‘Tis passing strange, yet I declare
Such statements cause me mirth,
For our demands most modest are,
We only want THE EARTH.

“Be Moderate,” the timorous cry,
Who dread the tyrant’s thunder,
“You ask too much, and people fly
From you aghast, in wonder”
‘Tis passing strange, and I declare
Such statements cause me mirth,
For our demands most moderate are,
We only want THE EARTH.

Our masters all – a godly crew
Whose hearts throb for the poor –
Their sympathies assure us, too,
If our demands were fewer.
Most generous souls, but please observe,
What they enjoy from birth,
Is all we ever had the nerve
To ask, that is, THE EARTH.

The Labour Fakir, full of guile,
Such doctrine ever preaches,
And, whilst he bleeds the rank and file,
Tame moderation teaches.
Yet, in his despite, we’ll see the day
When, with sword in its girth,
Labour shall march in war array,
To seize its own, THE EARTH:

For Labour long with groans and tears
To its oppressors knelt,
But, never yet to aught save fears
Did hear of tyrant melt.
We need not kneel; our cause is high,
Of true men there’s no dearth,
And our victorious rallying cry
Shall be, WE WANT THE EARTH.