Labourers’ lament

We do not wear upon our sleeve That damning star of shame.

But need we symbols to believe We’re Jews in all but name?

We know precisely where we stand, We know our proper place.

We have few rights in this grim land, We are an alien race.

We came in answer to your plea, We came to build your land.

But now that you are strong and free, You turn our hopes to sand.

We, who tilled from dawn to dark, Who worked in wind and rain, We, who strove to make our mark, Now find we toiled in vain.

The good we did you cast aside, You only look for sin.

The wrongs we did, we do not hide, Then must you drag them in?

Must you recall the past that’s gone?

Must you insist on blame?

Why heap your hate and scorn upon The land from whence we came?

We trespass here—that much is clear, But where else should we be?

Our hearts grow numb with mounting fear, It’s time to rise and flee.

From Africa they cast us out, (They found some good excuse.) The same will happen here, no doubt, When we outlive our use.

But wait, perhaps I speak too soon, From ill will no one gains.

What infant nation is immune To slips and growing pains?

Given time, it’s love that wins, And reason humbles pride.

Scratch the surface of our skins: We’re all the same inside.