Come workers sing a rebel song,
A song of love and hate,
Of love unto the lowly
And of hatred to the great.
The great who trod our fathers down,
Who steal our children’s bread,
Whose hands of greed are stretched to rob
The living and the dead.
Then sing our rebel song as we
proudly sweep along
To end the age-old tyranny
that makes for human tears.
Our march is nearer done, with
each setting of the sun.
And the tyrants’ might is passing
with the passing of the years.
We sing no more of wailing
And no songs of sighs or tears;
High are our hopes and stout our hearts
And banished all our fears.
Our flag is raised above us
So that all the world may see,
’Tis Labour’s faith and Labour’s arm
Alone can Labour free.
Out of the depths of misery
We march with hearts aflame;
With wrath against the rulers false
Who wreck our manhood’s name.
The serf who licks the tyrant’s rod
May bend forgiving knee;
The slave who breaks his slavery's chain
A wrathful man must be.
Our army marches onward
With its face towards the dawn,
In trust secure in that one thing
The slave may lean upon.
The might within the arm of him
Who knowing freedom’s worth,
Strikes hard to banish tyranny
From off the face of earth.