 | [Poems by Gallagher in] The poets and poetry of the West |  |
Workers high, and workers low,
Weary workers every where,
For the New Age rounding to
Like a planet, now prepare!
Weary workers every where,
For the New Age rounding to
Like a planet, now prepare!
Delver in the deep dark mine,
Where no rays of sunlight shine;
Toiler in unwholesome rooms,
Foul and damp with lingering glooms—
Worker by the hot highway,
In the blinding blaze of day—
Come it cold, or come it hot,
Be of spirit: falter not;
Toil is duty, growth, and gain;
Never wasted—never vain!
Patient, pent-up man-machine,
At the loom and shuttle seen,
Weaving in with nicest art
Throbbings of thy own poor heart,
Till the subtile textures seem
With thy very life to gleam—
Hard the toil, but work away:
Yet shall dawn the Better Day!
Where no rays of sunlight shine;
Toiler in unwholesome rooms,
Foul and damp with lingering glooms—
Worker by the hot highway,
In the blinding blaze of day—
Come it cold, or come it hot,
Be of spirit: falter not;
Toil is duty, growth, and gain;
Never wasted—never vain!
Patient, pent-up man-machine,
At the loom and shuttle seen,
Weaving in with nicest art
Throbbings of thy own poor heart,
Till the subtile textures seem
With thy very life to gleam—
Hard the toil, but work away:
Yet shall dawn the Better Day!
| [Poems by Gallagher in] The poets and poetry of the West | |