O Slaves of Toil!

When man shall stand erect at last,
and drink at Wisdom’s fountain
and to the earth in scorn shall cast
the chains his limbs are bound in;
then from his loins a race shall spring,
fit peer of gods and heroes,
O, blest be they whose efforts bring
That day and håour more near us

O, Slaves of toil, no craven fear,
nor dread of fell disasters
need daunt ye now, then up, and clear
the earth of lords and masters

Like brazen serpent raised on high
in Israelite tradition,
Our cause in each believing eye,
mean slavery’s abolition,
We see the day when men shall rise
And, firm on science building
From Theft’s thick mask of fraud and lies
strip all the specious gilding.

O, blest are they whom wind and tide
are wafting fortune’s graces,
and blest the man whose blushing bride
returns his rapt embraces,
and blest is he who has a friend
to shield his name when slandered
But blest o’er all they who contend
And march in Freedom’s vanguard.