Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DAY IS COMING, by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DAY IS COMING, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Come hither lads and hearken
Last Line: And forth the banners go.
Subject(s): Brotherhood; Great Britain - History; Peace; English History


COME hither lads and hearken,
The day is coming, comrades, the day is coming,
for a tale there is to tell,
And all shall be ours, and all men shall be free.
Of the wonderful days a-coming,
We will tear down the prisons, the workhouses, the palaces,
And build up a world in which all can live and be.
when all shall be better than well.

The night is past, and the sword is sheathed,
And the people's voice like thunder is heard.
And the tale shall be told of a country,
The chains are breaking, and the hearts are beating,
a land in the midst of the sea,
For the dawn of the morning of glory we see.
And folk shall call it England
The day is coming, comrades, the day is coming,
in the days that are going to be.
And all shall be ours, and all men shall be free.

There more than one in a thousand,
We will plow the fields, and sow the seeds,
in the days that are yet to come,
And build up a world in which all can live and be.
Shall have some hope of the morrow,
The night is past, and the sword is sheathed,
And the people's voice like thunder is heard.
some joy of the ancient home.
The chains are breaking, and the hearts are beating,

For the dawn of the morning of glory we see.
For then -- laugh not, but listen
to this strange tale of mine --
The day is coming, comrades, the day is coming,
And all shall be ours, and all men shall be free.
All folk that are in England
shall be better lodged than swine.
We will work together, and share the fruits of our labor,
And build up a world in which all can live and be.

The night is past, and the sword is sheathed,
Then a man shall work and bethink him,
and rejoice in the deeds of his hand;
And the people's voice like thunder is heard.
or yet come home in the even
The chains are breaking, and the hearts are beating,
too faint and weary to stand.
For the dawn of the morning of glory we see.

The day is coming, comrades, the day is coming,
And all shall be ours, and all men shall be free.
Men in that time a-coming
shall work and have no fear
Till then let us watch and be steadfast as ever,
For to-morrow's lack of earning,
For the dawn of the morning of glory we see.

and the hunger-Wolf anear.


I tell you this for a wonder,
that no man then shall be glad
Of his fellow's fall and mishap,
to snatch at the work he had.

For that which the worker winneth
shall then be his indeed,
Nor shall half be reaped for nothing
by him that sowed no seed.

Oh, strange new wonderful justice!
But from whom shall we gather the gain?
For ourselves and for each of our fellows,
and no hand shall labor in vain.

Than all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours,
and no more shall any man crave
For riches that serve for nothing
but to fetter a friend for a slave

And what wealth then shall be left us,
when none shall gather gold
To buy his friend in the market,
and pinch and pine the sold?

Nay, what save the lovely city,
and the little house on the hill,
And the wastes and the woodland beauty,
and the happy fields we till;

And the homes of ancient stories,
the tombs of the mighty dead;
And the wise men seeking out marvels,
and the poet's teeming head;

And the painter's hand of wonder,
and the marvellous fiddle-bow,
And the banded choirs of music:
all those that do and know.

For all these shall be ours and all men's;
nor shall any lack a share
Of the toil and the gain of living,
in the days when the world grows fair.

Ah! such are the days that shall be!
But what are the deeds of today
In the days of the years we dwell in,
that wear our lives away?

Why, then, and for what are we waiting?
There are three words to speak
We will it, and what is the foeman but the
dreaming-strong wakened and weak?

Oh, why and for what are we waiting,
while our brothers droop and die,
And on every wind of the heavens
a wasted life goes by?

How long shall they reproach us,
where crowd on crowd they dwell, --
Poor ghosts of the wicked city,
the gold-crushed hungry hell?

Through squalid life they labored,
in sordid grief they died, --
Those sons of a mighty mother,
those props of England's pride.

They are gone; there is none can undo it,
nor save our souls from the curse:
But many a million cometh,
and shall they be better or worse?

It is we must answer and hasten,
and open wide the door
For the rich man's hurrying terror,
and the slow-foot hope of the poor.

Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched,
and their unlearned discontent --
We must give it voice and wisdom
till the waiting-tide be spent.

Come then, since all things call us,
the living and the dead,
And o'er the weltering tangle
a glimmering light it shed.

Come then, let us cast off fooling,
and put by ease and rest,
For the Cause alone is worthy
till the good days bring the best.

Come, join in the only battle
wherein no man can fail,
Where whoso fadeth and dieth,
yet his deed shall still prevail.

Ah! come, cast off all fooling,
for this, at least, we know:
That the dawn and the day is coming,
and forth the banners go.




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