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We have wept till our faces are pale and wan;

We have knelt to a throne till our strength is gone;

We prayed to our masters, but, one by one,

They laughed to scorn our suffering land;

And sent forth their minions, with cannon and steel,

Swearing with fierce, unholy zeal,

To trample us down with an iron heel,

If we dared but to murmur our just demand.—

Know ye not now our Fatherland?

What! are there no MEN in your Fatherland,

To confront the tyrant's stormy glare,

With a scorn as deep as the wrongs ye bear,

With defiance as fierce as the oaths they sware,

With vengeance as wild as the cries of despair,

That rise from your suffering Fatherland?

Are there no SWORDS in your Fatherland,

To smite down the proud, insulting foe,

With the strength of dispair give blow for blow

Till the blood of the baffled murderers flow

On the trampled soil of your outraged land?

Are your right arms weak in that land of slaves,

That ye stand by your murdered brothers' graves,

Yet tremble like coward and crouching knaves,