I love you, I love you, 'tho toil may obscure
And make darker the light of my eye,
Tho' slow runs my blood, and my heart, if as pure,
Beats calmer when women are nigh;
Yet out from my heart comes a passionate wail,
With a note of sincerity true,
The protest of that heart, tho' its vigor may fail,
Yet beats stronger its love, dear, for you.
I love you, I love you, no swain to his dear,
Nor moth'r to first fruit of her womb,
Nor thinker to truths he has garnered in tears
From the deserts which hid them in gloom,
Hath love more devoted, more unfailing than he,
Now laying this poor wreath at thy shrine,
In the hope that accepted that off'ring will be,
And remembered when vict'ry is thine.
Yes, Freedom, I love you, my soul thou hast fired
With the flame that redeems from the clay,
Thou hast given to me, as to Moses inspired,
A glimpse of that land bright as day,
Whither Labor must journey, tho' each foot of the road
Sweated blood from the graves of its best,
Where built upon justice and truth, the abode
Thou preparest awaits the opprest.