Labor Day, September 1, 1902By George E. McNeill*March on, ye men of toil, the day is yours.Through cities' streets and pleasant country ways
Your tramping feet keep step to music's sound;
Your banners, waving in the autumn breeze
Repeat again the message of sweet peace
That first was heard by peasants on the Mount, --
Blest message, drowned by cannon's brazen lips
And moan of Labor 'neath proud Mammon's rod.
Lift high your standards, men of toil! march on!
Before you, hope; behind you, dark despair.
Ages of cruel wrong blot history's page;
Oppressive power, the arrogance of wealth,
The hopeless cry of children at their work,
The clanking chains of slaves, the bloodhound's yelp,
The proud disdain of culture's petted ones
Are not as dreams, but sad realities.
March on! march on! for 'neath your weary feet
Which tramp o'er rugged paths shall flowers bloom
To mark your every step from want to wealth,
And songs of joy shall cheer you on your way.
The laurel-wreath shall crown the brow of Peace;
The drunken greed of self-devouring lust
Shall be no more, for plenty fills all fields,
And they who work for all shall be hailed chief.
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