by Lola Ridge
Come forth, you workers!
Let the fires go cold—
Let the iron spill out, out of the troughs—
Let the iron run wild
Like a red bramble on the floors—
Leave the mill and the foundry and the mine
And the shrapnel lying on the wharves—
Leave the desk and the shuttle and the loom—
Come,With your ashen lives,
Your lives like dust in your hands.
I call upon you, workers.It is not yet light
But I beat upon your doors.You say you await the Dawn
But I say you are the Dawn.
Come, in your irresistible unspent force
And make new light upon the mountains.
An excerpt from “Reveille,” first published in 1920. This poem is in the public domain.