Page:When the Leaves Come Out (Chaplin 1917).pdf/11

 

In the gloom of mighty cities, Mid the roar of whirling wheels,
 * We are toiling on like chattel slaves of old,

And our masters hope to keep us Ever thus beneath their heels.
 * And to coin our very life-blood into gold.

But we have a glowing dream Of how fair the world will seem
 * When each man can live his life secure and free.

When the earth is owned by Labor And there's joy and peace for all
 * In the Commonwealth of Toil that is to be.

They would keep us cowed and beaten Cringing meekly at their feet.
 * They would stand between each worker and his bread.

Shall we yield our lives up to them For the bitter crusts we eat?
 * Shall we only hope for heaven when we're dead?

They have laid our lives out for us To the utter end of time.
 * Shall we stagger on beneath their heavy load?

Shall we let them live forever
 * In their gilded halls of crime
 * With our children doomed to toil beneath their goad?

