The Long March
BY MAO TSE-TUNG
The Red Army fears not the trials of a distant march;
To them a thousand mountains, ten thousand rivers are nothing;
To them the Five Peaks ripple like little waves,
And they slide over great Wumeng as a ball down a slope.
Warm are the cloud-topped cliffs washed by the River of Golden Sand,
Cold are the iron chains that span the Tatu River.
The myriad snows of Minshan only make them happier,
And when the Army has crossed, each face will be smiling.
To them a thousand mountains, ten thousand rivers are nothing;
To them the Five Peaks ripple like little waves,
And they slide over great Wumeng as a ball down a slope.
Warm are the cloud-topped cliffs washed by the River of Golden Sand,
Cold are the iron chains that span the Tatu River.
The myriad snows of Minshan only make them happier,
And when the Army has crossed, each face will be smiling.