The Ballad of Albert Parsons

I wrote the following years ago as part of our Chicago History in Song program. We decided to drop it from the line-up when our performance caused a severe outbreak of yawning; it's little wordy and the tune I created to accompany the words wasn't compelling enough to sustain interest through all eight stanzas.

On a more positive note, my sister recently wrote a wonderful post on the Haymarket Martyrs. Read it here.

Albert Parsons was the son of rebels and preachers alike

And he wore grey when he rode a star and scouted for states rights.

But the fate of the freedman caused him grief and he worked for their plight

So the south banished him and he came to Chicago with Lucy his wife.

In the north, Parsons saw low pay made slaves, freedom equaled bread;

Government, business and the press kept workers chained, he said.

When threatened and harmed for challenging pillars of money and greed

He said the system must be destroyed or the workers would wind up dead.

The state protected the business kings, political change was a dream.

Election rigging and business deals made anarchy seem a good thing.

In the city wealth sparkled brilliantly and workers lived like dogs

The black and red protest flags flew high and the Anarchy army grew strong.

“Hurrah for science!  Hurrah for the blast! All is just when snapping chains.

Hurrah for assassins who hit their mark!” cried papers of anarchy fame.              

The lines were drawn, the stage was set, the city was aware,

When plans were made for the fourth of May in the center of Haymarket Square

They came to protest long work days give speeches and stand as one

Harrison came as city mayor heard nothing to cause alarm.

But Bonfield, a cop who’d climbed the ranks by brutal and violent means

Swore to his men by the stroke of twelve they would see blood flowing free.

Dark clouds rolled in, the crowds grew thin, the speeches drew to a close

When Bonfield’s men marched to Haymarket Square and demanded the people disperse.

Who threw the bomb that killed Degan, who knows? It wasn’t the men who were tried

But Parsons and friends they took the stand while their wives and children cried.

The papers screamed as one for the deaths of “the monsters, the killers and fiends”

Who had to stand trial for reckless words they’d spoke for the working man.

The foes of freedom tried to build a bridge between speech and bombs

So the jury sentenced seven good men and the deed was smiled upon.

Labor in chains stood on the scaffold for backing workers’ rights.

The voice of freedom strangled that day, its silence grew in might.

The Chicago Martyrs gave their lives for the sacred right of words

And Parsons said before he died, “Let the voice of the people be heard.”

“Let the voice of the people be heard.”

--Kathryn Atwood