_Adr._ No. We join each other ... under the only unconquerable power. Gather an army and go forth with guns, and you may be laid in the dust. But the gathered forces of peace are as the fingers on God's hand, one with His strength, one with His will. Friends, friends, we have been searching earth for the weapon already in our grasp. The woman at the loom, the mujik in the field, the workman on the housetop, the man at the wire, the throttle, the wheel, hold it in their hands. To know its might--to use it together--that is all. _Together!_ O, they must see it--as I do now! I will gather my disciples, we will knock at every door and preach the gospel of united peace until all our unions are one union, all our bodies one body, with one breath, one heart, one head. In barin and peasant, mechanic and noble, Christian and Jew, Finn, Pole, Czech, Serb, Georgian, Tatar, must be born as in one man the conscious strength of peace. And to its deliverance I give my life, my soul! [_Sits down. Sophie leans over him_] ... Yes ... he shall be free. _Greg._ [_Who has been searching Vasil's violin, comes forward with a paper in his hand_] They shall _all_ be free! We will make no terms, we will accept no constitution, till every dungeon door be open, till we hold in our arms the brothers who have made freedom no longer a dream of the night but a song of the morning! To them we owe the liberty that is dawning, and shall we tread the earth they give us while they perish beneath it? Hear our latest martyr--the youngest of us all. Hear the "Voice of Schlusselburg!" [_Reads_] We are deep, we are deep Beneath your swift feet That pass and yet pass With unfaltering beat; But life has no sound That can deaden our moans, And no measure of ground Can bury our bones, Can bury our bones. We have given ye all But our lingering breath,-- The light from our eyes, The prayer at our death. The wine of the days, Drink it up, drink it up! But our hearts, as the grape, We pressed for the cup, We pressed for the cup. Through the measureless sun Your seasons shall sway. Pluck the fruit as your own, Ye have nothing to pay; For your summers of bloom Are the summers we've lost, And we in our tomb, We pay the red cost, We pay the red cost. Your youths shall be wed And the maids shall be fair, But the tears we have shed Are the pearls they shall wear; Your bride ye shall seek As never we could, But the rose on her cheek, It is dyed with our blood, It is dyed with our blood. The lips of your child Shall be warm on your own, But 'tis cold, it is cold, Where our babes lie alone. The hand of your friend In yours ye shall take, But look ye!--the scar Ours wear for his sake, Ours wear for his sake.