Let The Slav

Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bnght air Let the inchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary Years Rose and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open; And let his wife and children return from the oppressor's scourge They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream Singing: The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night For empire is no more and now the Lion and Wolf shall cease For everything that lives is holy For everything that lives is holy For everything that lives is holy For everything that lixes is holy What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted