Page:Songs of the IWW 4th Australian Edition.pdf/21

19 

There are ninety and nine that work and die,
 * In hunger and want and cold,

That one may revel in luxury,
 * And be lapped in the silken fold.

And ninety and nine in their hovels bare, And one in a place of riches rare.

From the sweat of their brow the desert blooms,
 * And the forest before them falls;

Their labor has builded humble homes,
 * And cities with lofty halls;

And the one owns cities and houses and lands, And the ninety and nine have empty hands.

But the night so dreary and dark and long,
 * At last shall the morning bring;

And over the land the victor's song,
 * Of the ninety and nine shall ring,

And echo afar, from zone to zone, "Rejoice! for Labor shall have its own."

