Strike Song

Kind friends and fellow-workmen,
Come, listen to our song
And help us in this battle
To fight the great and strong;
The heavy feet of tyrants
Have made our shoulders bleed
With iron hands they smote us
To satisfy their greed.

Chorus:
Have pity, Oh! Have pity!
Your who in plenty live;
Remember it is better,
Kind friends, than take, to give.

The waves have long been rising,
The worms have long been trod,
Our Masters have oppressed us,
They've made of gold their god;
The welfare of their workmen
They never thought upon;
At last our shoe was pinching
Too much to keep it on.

'Tis hard in this cold weather
To go from place to place,
And door to door, imploring
For sympathy and grace.
But where's the heart so hardened,
Where is the man, indeed,
Who can sit still, when seeing
A little child in need'.?

Some houses have no fire,
Amidst a wealth of coal,
And purses without money
To buy some, worst of all;
Where once there was bright sunshine,
There's now but gloomy night;
Help justice be triumphant,
And join us in this light!