Go! grovel for the shoddy goods
And plod and plot and plan,
And if you win the paltry prize
Go prize it--if you can,
But I would hurl it in your face
To hold myself a man!
I will not bow with that mad horde
And passively obey.
I will not think their sordid thoughts
Nor say the things they say,
Nor wear their shameful uniforms,
Nor branded be as they.
Nor can they bend me to their will
Though black their numbers swell,
Nor bribe with hopes of paradise
Nor force with fears of hell;
Me they may break but never bend,--
I live but to rebel!
I go my way rejoicingly,
I, outcast, spurned and low,
But undreamed worlds may come to birth
From seeds that I may sow.
And if there's pain within my heart
Those fools shall never know.
So let me stand back silently,
The pageant passes by,
And live my life with these new Christs
Whom you would crucify,
And laugh with mirth to see the mob
Do homage to a Lie!
THE WEST IS DEAD
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?
UP FROM YOUR KNEES
(Air: "Song of a Thousand Years")
Up from your knees, ye cringing serf men!
What have ye gained by whines and tears?
Rise! They can never break our spirits
Though they should try a thousand years.
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