Soon or late the day is coming,
Tyrant Man shall be o'erthrown,
And the fruitsful fields of England
Shall be trod by beasts alone.
Rings shall vanish from our noses,
And the harness from our back
Bit and spur shall rust forever,
Cruel whips no more shall crack.
Risches more than mind can picture,
Wheat and barley, oats and hay,
Clover , beans, and mangel-wurzels
Shall be ours upon that day.
Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall it's waters be,
Sweeter yet shall blow it's breezes
On the day that sets us free.
For that day we all must labour,
Through we die before it breaks;
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys,
All must toil for freedom's sake.
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken well and sread my tidings
Of the golden future time.
This song was sung at every meeting on Sunday.
