Page:Poems for Workers - ed. Manuel Gomez (1925).djvu/9

 "The Song of the Classes"

By

Chartist leader and poet, 1819–1869; sentenced in 1848 to two years imprisonment.

We plough and sow—we're so very, very low

That we delve in the dirty clay,

Till we bless the plain—with the golden grain,

And the vale with the fragrant hay.

Our place we know—we're so very low.

'Tis down at the landlord's feet:

We're not too low—the bread to grow,

But too low the bread to eat.

Down, down we go—we're so very, very low,

To the hell of the deep sunk mines,

But we gather the proudest gems that glow

Where the crown of a despot shines.

And whenever he lacks—upon our backs

Fresh loads he deigns to lay:

We're far too low to vote the tax,

But not too low to pay.

We're low—we're low—mere rabble, we know,

But at our plastic power

The mould at the lordlings' feet will grow

Into palace and church and tower—

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