. . . One rises now and speaks: "The Cause is one—
Labour o'er all the earth! Shan't we, then, share
With these, whose very flesh and blood's our own,
All that we can of what we have and are?
"What is it that their work is in the earth,
Down in its depths, and ours is on the sea?
The fight they fight is ours; their worth our worth;
Their loss our loss. We help them! They are we!
"We help them!—Ay, and when our hour too breaks,
And on to every ship that ploughs the wave
We put our hand at last, our hand that takes
Its own, will they forget the help we gave?
"And, if our robber lords would rob us still
With the foul hoard of beasts without a soul,
They may find leprous hands to work their will,
But, for their ships, where will they find the coal?"
"Help them!" the voices cry. They help them. Here,
Resolute, stern, menacing, hark the sound!
Look, 'tis the simple fearlessness of fear—
Dark faces and deep voices all around.