WEEP, weep, weep and weep, For pauper, dolt, and slave! Hark! from wasted moor and fen Feverous alley, stifling den, Swells the wail of Saxon men -- Work! or the grave! Down, down, down and down With idler, knave, and tyrant! Why for sluggards cark and moil? He that will not live by toil Has no right on English soil! God's word's our warrant! Up, up, up and up! Face your game and play it! The night is past, behold the sun! The idols fall, the lie is done! The Judge is set, the doom begun! Who shall stay it? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MUSIC [TO BECALM HIS FEVER] by ROBERT HERRICK THE FROGS: AN 'AESCHYLEAN' CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES BENEDICITE by ANNA CALLENDER BRACKETT LINES SUGGESTED BY A LATE OCCURRENCE by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD FATHER O'SHEA WAS HIS REGIMENT'S PRIDE by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |