Latter-Day Psalms/Labour
LABOUR
I heard a voice of anger rising out of the city, the voice of many men:
Where is the oppressor? Who is it that has bound us to his will?
We are like a man who would tread down fire, but it springs up behind him anew.
Where is the oppressor, that we may throw him down, and cast him into the hell that he has made?
We have risen against one, but he vows it is not he; and against another, but he reproaches us, saying, "Friends, I am your friend."
Where is the oppressor, he that lurks in the darkness to torment us?
Is he more worthy than we, that we should be his slaves? Or is he a god, that we should be a sacrifice to him?
Is it he that put weapons into the hands of the first men, that they might overcome the beasts?
Is it he that sweated to make the earth bring forth in the beginning, wrestling with tools against the wild?
Did he pile up the wide, mouldering cities of the dead? Is it his blood that is upon the pyramids?
Did he lay himself down to die on the old frontiers, that there might be peace behind him?
Did he build roads and bridges with his hands? Did he make the corn to grow for innumerable harvests?
Did he cramp his back under the earth to bring up coal and all metals? Does he die daily for our sakes?
It is our backs that are bent. It is we that toil from the beginning until the end of the world.
It is we that hand down an increasing inheritance to all the generations, making the earth to be a pleasant home.
We are mighty in labour. We have great work to do.
Who dare hinder us? Who dare squander what we have made?
Where is the oppressor, the devourer, the accurst?
Where is the oppressor? Who is it that has bound us to his will?
We are like a man who would tread down fire, but it springs up behind him anew.
Where is the oppressor, that we may throw him down, and cast him into the hell that he has made?
We have risen against one, but he vows it is not he; and against another, but he reproaches us, saying, "Friends, I am your friend."
Where is the oppressor, he that lurks in the darkness to torment us?
Is he more worthy than we, that we should be his slaves? Or is he a god, that we should be a sacrifice to him?
Is it he that put weapons into the hands of the first men, that they might overcome the beasts?
Is it he that sweated to make the earth bring forth in the beginning, wrestling with tools against the wild?
Did he pile up the wide, mouldering cities of the dead? Is it his blood that is upon the pyramids?
Did he lay himself down to die on the old frontiers, that there might be peace behind him?
Did he build roads and bridges with his hands? Did he make the corn to grow for innumerable harvests?
Did he cramp his back under the earth to bring up coal and all metals? Does he die daily for our sakes?
It is our backs that are bent. It is we that toil from the beginning until the end of the world.
It is we that hand down an increasing inheritance to all the generations, making the earth to be a pleasant home.
We are mighty in labour. We have great work to do.
Who dare hinder us? Who dare squander what we have made?
Where is the oppressor, the devourer, the accurst?