Poem by Ernest Charles Jones

Our Warning

Ye lords of golden argosies!
    And Prelate, prince, and peer;
And members all of Parliament,
    In rich St. Stephens, hear!

We are gathering up through England,
    All the bravest and the best;
From the heather-hills of Scotland,
    To the green Isle of the West.

From the corn field and the factory,
    To the coal-belt's hollow zone;
From the cellars of the city,
    To the mountain's quarried stone.

We want no courtiers golden
    And ye no bayonets need;
If tales of ages olden
    Arightly ye will read.

'Tis justice that ensureth
    To statutes, they shall last;
And liberty endureth
    When tyrannies have passed.

We seek to injure no man;
    We ask but for our right;
We hold out to the foreman
    The hand that he would smite!

And, if ye mean it truly,
    The storm may yet be laid,
And we will aid you duly,
    As brothers brothers aid;—

But, if ye falsely play us,
    And if ye but possess
The poor daring to betray us,
    Not the courage to redress;

Then your armies shall be scattered,—
    If at us their steel be thrust,—
And your fortresses be battered,
    Like atoms in the dust!

And the anger of the nation
    Across the land shall sweep,
Like a mighty Devastation
    Of the winds upon the deep!

1. A Fine Young Foreign Gentleman
2. Hymn for Lammas Day
3. The Silent Cell
4. Earth's Burdens
5. Too Soon

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