Gigantic toilers' hands the world entire are raking. Their fingers sift and grope the soil -- but grope in vain. O tell me, Party -- tell me -- what is it you are seeking? "I've lost a party card," replied a voice in pain. "Just a little card -- and yet, how great my sorrow! No deeper loss our nation ever befell. It was but yesterday I held it in my fingers. Death dealt her blow -- and from my hands it fell. "You, Proletarians, at every door now hammer! Is he then really gone? Death not be denied? One little party card -- one party card is missing -- And in our fighting ranks -- a huge gap, yawning wide!" I heard my Party's call and felt how it was grieving, And hard as forged and tempered steel my muscles grew. O Party -- can you hear me? 'Tis @3you@1 that I am greeting, 'Tis I -- a toiler from the mills, addressing you! My Soviet country's son, I'm coming to you, Party. O Party, can you hear me? A month or so from now The party card that fell from Lenin's keeping Will by a hundred thousand thousand be replaced, I vow. |