For all the saints who from their labors rest,

Look on these saints, who without recompense

Toil in mines, fincas, sweat-shop confinements.

Maranatha!  Maranatha!

Thou wast their rock, their fortress and their might;

Their heavy burdens are our pleasures light.

Swift falls the axe whene’er they join to strike.

Maranatha!  Maranatha!

O blessed communion, fellowship divine;

Cheap are our goods, more costly is the crime

Of workers martyred in markets globalized.

Maranatha!  Maranatha!

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,

Factories collapse on the holy throng;

Fires consume saints at exits bolted strong.

Maranatha!  Maranatha!

From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,

On goes the search for the best nation-host

With wages least, productivity most.

Maranatha!  Maranatha!