Arm to arm, sinews clutch
One another, makes friend and crutch;
One crimson call, which guidance brought
The feeble, stern: the working lot
To stand much greater, taller, strong
Filled with hope, in lines long,
That stretch from pain, from glum, from slum
To the halls of white where nations clump
In the deadest form of gathered hoards
Of finance and shares, secluded boards
Who...
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