"There are Ninety and Nine who must live and die In hunger and want and cold,That one may revel in luxury, Enwrapped in its silken fold,And the one owns houses, and gold, and lands,But the Ninety and Nine have empty hands.
Long have they bowed 'neath the terrible yoke Of Greed, Oppression and Wrong,And the cry of their souls goes up to God, How long, Oh, God! how long?And the answer comes from the great, white throne,"Rejoice! for Labor shall have her own."
They build the palaces, stately and fair, They labor in field and mine,And all that is costly and grand and rare, Is wrought by the Ninety and Nine.Yet the rulers own all the houses and lands,And the Ninety and Nine have empty hands.
That the rich man's coffers may never lack gold, They loose the red hounds of War,And the angels weep 'round the great white throne. For the woes of the Sorrowful Star,And the feasts of the mighty are red with wine,Poured from the veins of the Ninety and Nine.
Sometimes they wonder if God is dead, Or if He has refused to hearThe prayer of His people, but God has heard, And the hour is drawing near,When all shall glean in the common field,Sharing alike in the harvest yield.
And Greed and Labor shall strive no more, For Greed shall be overthrown.And the scales of Justice shall balance at last, And Labor shall have her own.And the builders will own whatever they build,And the hands of the Ninety and Nine be filled.
