On the hard cobblestones of the city streets and through the dust
of country roads we will march.
Our legs may be weary and our throats hot and dry,
But still we will march, shoulder to shoulder.
We will march until the ground shakes and tall buildings tremble.
Shoulder to shoulder we will go--all of us--
On and on forever.
We will not talk nor listen to talk.
We will march and we will teach our sons and our daughters to
march.
Their minds are troubled. Our minds are clear.
We do not think and banter words.
We march.
Our faces are coarse and there is dust in our hair and beards.
See, the inner parts of our hands are rough.
And still we march--we the workers."
CHAPTER VI
Who will ever forget that Labour Day in Chicago? How they marched!--
thousands and thousands and more thousands! They filled the streets.
The cars stopped. Men trembled with the import of the impending hour.
Here they come! How the ground trembles! The chant chant chant of that
song! It must have been thus that Grant felt at the great review of
the veterans in Washington when all day long they marched past him,
the men of the Civil War, the whites of their eyes showing in the tan
of their faces. McGregor stood on the stone curbing above the tracks
in Grant Park.
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