Loose him and let him go!
Ye men of privilege, ye men of power;
The giant who has risen in this hour,
Bearing a crown of sweat upon his brow —
His name is Labor, and his time is Now .
Think you tradition's tomb can hold him long?
Progress is with him and his arm is strong.
And feel ye not the passion of his throe?
How dare ye then to bind him to his woe?
Loose him and let him go!
His feet are set in centuries of soil,
His mighty arms about the earth are furled,
Upon his brow the diadem of toil —
His sinews are the courage of the world.
Loose him and let him go! His time is come.
Without him, forge and factory were dumb.
But for his hand the soil would not give birth —
All fires go black upon the nation's hearth.
There is no labor where he has no part,
Commerce keeps time to his tremendous heart;
Tunnels and towers, battleships and mines,
The plenteous product of the fields and vines,
The teeming industry of all the land
He holds within the hollow of his hand.
Cities and parks and palaces and mills —
These are his works, to do with as he wills.
Why ... should this Titan dare withhold his breath,
Terror and tears and agony and death
Would straightway fall upon the stricken world —
This planet into chaos would be hurled!
He is the ladder on which all men rise —
This laborer, this creature of the sod;
How dare ye then withhold from him the prize?
Lo, from his eyes look forth the eyes of God!
Yea, from his eyes the eyes of God look out!
The voice of God is heard within his shout.
Give him the trophies of the truthful soil,
Bequeathed to him by his prodigious toil.
All men pay tribute to the warrior's sword —
Shall his colossal work have no reward?
He only crieth for his heritage,
The fruits that have been his in every age
Had he but dreamed it. But he dreams it now —
The value of that sweat upon his brow
The tomb of arrogance and human greed,
Justice will shatter it — he shall be freed.
The right is with him and creation's law;
The wildest war this planet ever saw
Shall devastate the earth unless ye heed,
Unless ye harken, now , unto his need.
The globe is girdled with his arteries,
His shoulders bear the burdens of the race;
The triumphs of humanity are his —
Man's destiny is written in his face.
O, giant, if you but knew your power!
This is your hour.