Song of the Lower Classes

This song is based on a poem written by Ernest Jones in the early 1850's. Jones was a workingclass member of the English Chartist movement and spent two years in prison for "sedition". 

It first appeared in a collectionn of protest songs in the late 19th century. There are many versions of the lyrics & melodies of the song in circulation. You can find more variants of the lyrics inthe Mainly Norfolk article on the song.

Here are our own favorite variant of the lyrics (especially the final verse!), as sung by Windborne (on their wonderful 2017 CD & booklet Song of the Times:

We plough and sow, we are so low, that we delve in the dirty clay,
'Til we bless the plain with golden grain
And the vale with the fragrant hay.
Our place we know we are so low, down at the landlord's feet.
We're not too low the bread to grow but too low the bread to eat.
 

We're low, we're low, we are so low yet from our fingers glide
The silken flow and the robes that glow
'Round the limbs of the sons of pride.
And what we get and what we give we know and we know our share:
We're not too low the cloth to weave but too low the cloth to wear.
 

Down down we go, we are so low, to the hell of the deep-sunk mine,
But we gather the proudest gems that glow
When the crown of the despot shines.
Whenever he lacks upon our backs fresh loads he deigns to lay.
We're far too low to vote the tax but not too low to pay.
 

We're low, we're low as to war we go to fight some foreign country
That was yesterday our greatest friend but today's our enemy.
"God bless our boys!" the papers scream
"Praise them!" the churchmen cry.
When the war is won and home we come, who cares if we live or die?
 

We're low, so low, into boats we go to flee war in our home country,
And we'll try to make a better life when we land across the sea.
But it's "Send them back!" the press cries out
"Back to where they came!"
We're far too low to feed and clothe but not too low to blame.
 

We are so low but soon we know that the low folk will arise,
And the tyrants in their tow'rs of gold shall hear the people's cries
No more shall they hold us in thrall; their lies we will not heed.
But every heart shall hear the call and the people will be free

- words by Ernest Jones, final two verses by Windborne.