When the Leaves Come Out/The Alarm

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From the blackness of Toil's degradation
In the mine and the mill and the farm,
O'er the gulf of a dead generation
Comes the newly-born voice of Alarm.

'Tis the voice of the dead in the living,
An appeal to the brain and the arm,
'Tis the voices of murdered men giving
New life to the cry of Alarm.

Though the Tyrant is glutted and lustful,
And protected by law's mystic charm,
Yet his slumbering slaves are distrustful,
They have hearkened and heard the Alarm.

And he fears that his power is shaken
That was mighty to maim and to harm;
That his serf-men who slept will awaken
At the Call of Revolt—the Alarm;

That his world with its bleak desolation
Will be shattered by Labor's strong arm;
That the slumbering slaves of the nation
Will UNITE at the sound of Alarm.