The Labour Agitator
The Labour Agitator - meaning Summary
Organized Labour as Army
Lawson’s poem is a rousing defence of labour agitation and collective struggle. The speaker embraces being vilified while insisting reformers act from conscience and truth. Repeated chorus imagery—an ‘‘army of the rebels’’ as countless as pebbles—frames persistent, non‑military campaigning that will eventually overthrow unjust rulers and systems. The poem stresses solidarity beyond creed or nation, moral certainty over immediate reward, and agitation as a long, inevitable process of change.
Read Complete AnalysesLet the liar call me liar, And the robber call me thief. They can only fan the fire That is born of my belief. While I’m speaking, while I’m writing, To reform the wrongful laws, Well I know that I am fighting For the grand old Cause. See the army of the rebels Marching on for evermore. We are countless as the pebbles That are strewn along the shore. Agitating, agitating, Till the Truth has sealed the fate Of the wrongs that I am hating With the grand old Hate. Though no battle banner rustles In a smoke that blurs the blue, As when heroes poured from Brussels To the field of Waterloo, Though we do not hear the rattle Of the rifles in the wars, There is glory in the battle For the grand old Cause. See the army of the rebels Marching on for evermore. We are countless as the pebbles That are strewn along the shore. Agitating, agitating, Till the Truth has sealed the fate Of the wrongs that I am hating With the grand old Hate. No! I look not to the reaping In the dynasty of men, For I know that I’ll be sleeping In a slandered grave e’er then. Till his right to man is given We’ll rebel, and we’ll rebel As we would rebel in heaven If it proved a hell. See the army of the rebels Marching on for evermore. We are countless as the pebbles That are strewn along the shore. Agitating, agitating, Till the Truth has sealed the fate Of the wrongs that I am hating With the grand old Hate. No! There’s neither creed nor nation Where the Labour flag’s unfurled, For the Labour agitation Breaks the barriers of the world. Let the rulers fly in terror With their scornful lips uncurled, One by one the gods of error From their thrones are hurled. See the army of the rebels Marching on for evermore. We are countless as the pebbles That are strewn along the shore. Agitating, agitating, Till the Truth has sealed the fate Of the wrongs that I am hating With the grand old Hate.
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