As we go marching, marching in the beauty of the day,
a million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray
are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses.
For the people hear us singing, bread and roses, bread and roses.
As we go marching, marching, we battle too for men.
For they are women's children and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweetened from birth until life closes.
Hearts starve as well as bodies, give us bread, but give us roses.
As we go marching, marching, we bring the greater days
for the rising of the women means the rising of the race .
No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes,
but the sharing of life's glories, bread and roses, bread and roses.