III.

Hath not the humblest hands, eyes, feeling, thought Like your’s, strength, weakness, tears and laughter’s dower? The bruted serf hath Poland’s serfdom wrought; For when to strike for Freedom comes the hour, He strikes his lords! At home let Tyrants cower In field, or factory, mountain, mine, or glen. Where’er the weak are crushed by ruffian power, Where’er the poor are slighted, where the pen Can reach Oppression, there shall pierce the rights of Men!