The South goes ever forward, the slave is not free, The great stone gate of the Union crumbles and totters, The cotton-blossoms are pushing the blocks apart, The roots of cotton grow in the crevices, (John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave.) Soon the fight will be over, the slaves will be slaves forever. (John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave.) You did not fight for the Union or wish it well, You fought for the single dream of a man unchained And God’s great chariot rolling. You fought like the thrown Stone, but the fighters have forgotten your dream. (John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave.) You fought for a people you did not comprehend, For a symbol chained by a symbol in your own mind, But, unless you arise, that people will not be free. Are there no seeds of thunder left in your bones Except to breed useless armies? (John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave.) Arise, John Brown, Call up your sons from the ground, In smoky wreaths, call up your sons to heel, Call up the clumsy country boys you armed