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James Connolly

No Tune (translation of "Auf Socialisten")


Up, brothers, up the drums are beating,

And see on high the banners wave,

Close up our ranks, let no retreating

Be ours whilst earth contains a slave.

Till all alike our triumph won

Shall know the splendor of the sun,

And drink of wisdom’s holiest spring,

This is the prize our armies bring.

 

A holy war for Labor’s right,

A holy war for Labor’s right;

For Labor’s cause,

For Labor’s cause

Shall win the fight.

 

O, brothers, ye whose hosts uncounted

Must toil to win a scanty wage,

Whose backs were bent that robbers, mounted,

Might ride thereon from age to age.

No longer now in thralldom grown,

Your strong right hand must take your own

And by that act to manhood spring

Such is the prize our armies bring.

 

A holy war for Labor’s right,

A holy war for Labor’s right;

For Labor’s cause,

For Labor’s cause

Shall win the fight.

 

The tyrants hope a conquering sword

Will stem the onward march of right,

But Truth o’er all their barbarous horde

Leads Freedom’s host to Freedom’s height.

To break the sword of war and pain

That peace and joy o’er earth may reign

And conquering hosts of Labor sing

This is the prize our armies bring.

 

A holy war for Labor’s right,

A holy war for Labor’s right;

For Labor’s cause,

For Labor’s cause

Shall win the fight.


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