The Pioche weekly record. [volume] (Pioche, Nev.) 1877-1900, 1899-02-16
World of Labor
vox PoPULI.
BY STERILE woopNAN

vox PoPULI.
BY SHERLIE WooDMAN.
We are coming, we, the people,
Rising in our conscious power;
Many ages have we waited,
Hungered, thirsted, for this hour;
For the tyTant and oppressor
In our presence soon shall COVER.
We are coming, We. the people,
We, the ortcast and oppressed,
We, the scorned Of all the nations,
Coming on from East and West,
North aud South, the wide world over,
Like the sea which knows no rest.
We are coming to our kingdom,
Pressing on to claim our own;
We shall rear the golden city,
This our task and ours alone;
Yes, the stone, so long neglected,
Shall become its corner stone.
We are coming, coming, coming
Hear our legions ON their way
Rouse ye, sleepers, from your slumbers'
Make you ready for the fray
This the dreaded "dies irae''-
This the peoples judgment day.
Tremble, tyrants Pale, We despotsl
Weep and howl, We rich and proud
For your pow'r ut length is shattered
See in yonder sky the cloud,
Soon to burst in retribution,
O'er your heads in anguish how'd.
Rocks and mountains may not hide you
From the peoples Weakened wrath;
Like whirlwind we shall carry
All before MS in our path
Earth awaits new baptism;
Shall 1t be bloody bathl
Not if We will heed the warning
OF the voice which speaks to-day,
And, for wrongs ye've heaped upon US,
Make atonement while We may
Make us ample reparation-
Else in vain for mercy pray.
Ye have lived in ease and splendor-
Luxury has been your bane;
Yours the purple and fine linen,
Ours the sweat, the toll, the pain,
Ours the crumbs, the rags Of Lag rus,
Yet must we not e'en complain.
Tho our toll has recreated
This fair earth on which we dwell,
Ye, who toll, not have possessed it,
While ye banished us to hell;
To the tenements whose horrors,
Tongue of mortal scarce may tell.
In those foul and wretched dwellings,
Void of air, of space, OF light,
Care crushed wives bring forth our of
spring,
Doom'd to toll from morn till night;
Helpless children robbed Of childhood
Dare men claim that this is right?
In the mansions of our masters
Childhood blossoms bright and fair;
While with us tbs stunted, withered,
BY disease and want and care
Tiny forms with aged faces
Oh! These things are hard to bear.
Yes, but we have borne them, comrade
Silent suffered ev'ry wrong,
Ev'ry form of foul oppression
From the mighty and the strong;
Unto Heaven in vain appealing,
''God of justice, Oh, how longg
We have seen our mothers, daughters,
Seen our sisters, sweethearts, wives
Fore to barter woman honor
10 sustain their wretched lives;
While upon their unpaid labor,
Capital, the monster, thrives.
Shall we bear these wrongs forever,
Ever abject and supineS
Shall that potentate called Mammon
Reign for aye by right divine?
Hal The gods great mills grind slow
But they grind exceeding fine.
Yes, the time has come for action,
Freedoms voice is heard at last,
Calling to the sleeping nations
Mammons minions stand aghast-
And the people foes shall vanish
Like dry leaves before the blast.
See The message we re proclaiming,
Animates the very stones;
Lo Behold mighty army,
Where but now were bleaching bones
Hear our proclamation echoed,
In the crash of falling thrones.
| As they catch that far of echo,
, How the hearts Of men are stirred;
r How with tears their eyehds glisten,
I Freedom is a wondrous word)
r And, in joyful reclamation,
r Now the peoples voice. is heard