Lyrics: T. Phillips Thompson.
Tune: “Comin’ Thro’ the Rye.”
Not by cannon nor by saber,
Not by flags unfurled,
Shall we win the rights of labor,
Shall we free the world.
Thought is stronger far than weapons,
Who shall stay its course?
It spreads in onward circling waves
Ever gath’ring force.
Hopes may fail us, clouds may lower,
Comrades may betray,
Crushed beneath the heel of power
Justice lies today.
But every strong and radiant soul,
Whom the truth makes free,
Shall send a deathless impulse forth
Words of insight, sympathetic,
Flash from soul to soul,
Of the coming time prophetic,
Freedom’s distant goal.
Kindling with one aspiration,
Hearts will feel their thrill,
And iron bands be ropes of sand
’Gainst the people’s will.
Right shall rule where we will it;
All the rest is naught;
“Every bullet has its billet,”
So has every thought.
When the people wish for freedom,
None can say them nay;
’Tis slav’ry of the darkened mind
Alone stops the way.