The Project Gutenberg EBook of Selected Poems, by William Francis Barnard

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Selected Poems

Author: William Francis Barnard

Release Date: August 29, 2004 [EBook #13322]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SELECTED POEMS ***

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Tamiko I. Camacho and PG Distributed
Proofreaders

[Transcriber's note: The spelling irregularities of the original have
been retained in this etext.]

SELECTED POEMS

THE TONGUES OF TOIL

AND OTHER POEMS

BY

WILLIAM FRANCIS BARNARD

JUSTICE PUBLISHING COMPANY
PITTSBURGH, PA.

=The Tongues of Toil=

Do you hear the call from a hundred lands.
Lords of a dying name?
We are the men of sinewed hands
Whom the earth and the seas acclaim.
We are the hoards that made you lords.
And gathered your gear and spoil.
And we speak with a word that should be heard--
Hark to the tongues of toil!

The power of your hands it falls at last,
The strength of your rule is o'er,
Where the might of a million slaves is massed
To the shouts of a million more.
We rise, we rise, 'neath the western skies,
And the dawns of the east afar;
And our myriads swarm in the southlands warm,
And under the northern star!

We take no thought of the fears you feel,
And the rage you hold at heart,
Nor of all your strength of the gold and steel
Enthroned at the gates of mart.
We have no care for the deeds you dare,
For the force of your armies hurled;
You stand but few, and we challenge you--
Strong men of all the world!

We served as your fools when time was young,
And long, long we forbore.
Glad of the niggard boons you flung,
The least of your ample store;
But the gnawing pain of a starving brain
Is great as the belly need--
We have learned at last from a hungry past
The joys of a rebel deed!

We come, we come, with the force of fate;
We are not weak, but strong.
We parley not, and we cannot wait;
We march with a freeman's song.
We claim for meed what a life we can need
That lives as a life should live--
Not less, not more, From the plenteous store