"The Rebel" lyrics
I am come of the seed of the people, people that sorrow
Who have no treasure but hope
No riches laid up but a memory of an ancient glory
My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born
I am of the blood of serfs
The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have eaten
Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters
And though gentle, have served churls
The hands that have touched mine
The dear hands whose touch Is familiar to me
Have worn shameful manacles, have been bitten at the wrist by manacles
Have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers
I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone I that have never submitted
I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people's masters
I that have vision and prophecy, and the gift of fiery speech
I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy hill
And because I am of the people, I understand the people
I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire
My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers
My eyes have been wet with the tears of children
I have yearned with old wistful men
And laughed and cursed with young men
Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it
Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free
Reddened for that they have gone in want, while others have been full
Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and their jailors
With their Writs of Summons and their handcuffs
Men mean and cruel!
I could have borne stripes on my body
Rather than this shame of my people
And now I speak, being full of vision:
I speak to my people, and I speak in my people's name to
The masters of my people:
I say to my people that they are holy
That they are august despite their chains
That they are greater than those that hold them
And stronger and purer
That they have but need of courage, and to call on the name of their God
God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the people
For whom he died naked, suffering shame
And I say to my people's masters: Beware
Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people
Who shall take what ye would not give
Did ye think to conquer the people, or that law is stronger than life
And than men's desire to be free?
We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held
Ye that have bullied and bribed
Tyrants, hypocrites, liars!
Who have no treasure but hope
No riches laid up but a memory of an ancient glory
My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born
I am of the blood of serfs
The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have eaten
Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters
And though gentle, have served churls
The hands that have touched mine
The dear hands whose touch Is familiar to me
Have worn shameful manacles, have been bitten at the wrist by manacles
Have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers
I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone I that have never submitted
I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people's masters
I that have vision and prophecy, and the gift of fiery speech
I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy hill
And because I am of the people, I understand the people
I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire
My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers
My eyes have been wet with the tears of children
I have yearned with old wistful men
And laughed and cursed with young men
Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it
Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free
Reddened for that they have gone in want, while others have been full
Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and their jailors
With their Writs of Summons and their handcuffs
Men mean and cruel!
I could have borne stripes on my body
Rather than this shame of my people
And now I speak, being full of vision:
I speak to my people, and I speak in my people's name to
The masters of my people:
I say to my people that they are holy
That they are august despite their chains
That they are greater than those that hold them
And stronger and purer
That they have but need of courage, and to call on the name of their God
God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the people
For whom he died naked, suffering shame
And I say to my people's masters: Beware
Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people
Who shall take what ye would not give
Did ye think to conquer the people, or that law is stronger than life
And than men's desire to be free?
We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held
Ye that have bullied and bribed
Tyrants, hypocrites, liars!
