Page:When the Leaves Come Out (Chaplin 1917).pdf/12

  When our cause is all triumphant And we claim our Mother Earth,
 * And the nightmare of the present fades away,

We shall live with Love and Laughter, We, who now are little worth,
 * And we'll not regret the price we have to pay.

  What path is left for you to tread
 * When Hunger-wolves are slinking near—

Do you not know the West is dead?

The "blanket-stiff" now packs his bed
 * Along the trails of yesteryear.

What path is left for you to tread?

Your fathers, golden sunsets led
 * To virgin prairies wide and clear.

Do you not know the West is dead?

Now dismal cities rise instead
 * And freedom is not there nor here—

What path is left for you to tread?

Your fathers' world, for which they bled,
 * Is fenced and settled far and near—

Do you not know the West is dead?

Your fathers gained a crust of bread,
 * Their bones bleach on the lost frontier;

What path is left for you to tread—
 * Do you not know the West is dead?

