The worker’s flag is deepest red It shrouded oft our martyred dead; And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold Their life-blood dyed its every fold.
Then raise the scarlet standard high! Beneath its folds we’ll live and die. Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer We’ll keep the red flag flying here. Look ’round, the Frenchman loves its blaze, The sturdy German chants its praise, In Moscow’s vaults its hymns are sung Chicago swells the surging throng.
It waved above our infant might When all ahead seemed dark as night. It witnessed many a deed and vow, We will not change its color now.
It suits today the meek and base, Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place, To cringe beneath the rich man’s frown, And haul that sacred emblem down.
With heads uncovered swear we all To bear it onward till we fall; Come dungeons dark or gallows grim, This song shall be our parting hymn.