University of Virginia Library

I.

Hearken, human brother—ho!
Worker at the board or bench,
High aloft the window throw—
Let escape the stew and stench;
Air like that in these shut rooms,
Foul and damp with lingering glooms,
Do the best with it you can,
Is not fit for lungs of man.
Though the walls that rise about
Shut the blessèd sunlight out,
Yet the sweet and liberal air
Wanders freely everywhere.
'Mid the darkness, 'mid the din,
Lift the sash, and let it in!
Thick upon your pallid brow
Stand the reeking sweat-drops now:
Thicker still upon your face
Lines of anguish interlace.
Wipe away the honest sweat;
Proud of it you shall be yet!
Banish, too, the lines of pain—
Human toil is not in vain!
Work and wait—'t will yet be Day;
Long the task, but work away!

II.

Striker at the anvil, ho!
You are all begrimed and hot;
Still you strike a mighty blow;
Let your spirit falter not!
Brace your sinews—plant your foot—
White the skin beneath the soot:
Turn the iron—strike it well—
Every blow at last will tell.
Soon your clear or subtle thought
In the metal shall be wrought;
Soon the forge's glowing heat,
And the hammer's ringing beat,
So shall shape the iron rod
That 't will work for man and God;
So, too, shall your blow on blow
Bring the hour you long to know.
Clutch the iron—heat it hot—
Be of spirit—falter not.
Like its glow shall be your Day;
Work with will, and work away!

III.

Mighty molder, hist and ho!
Down there in your earthly halls,
Like the metal all aglow,
How the sweat from off you falls—
Dripping with each heave or stroke,
As the rain drips from the oak!
Still the mold you well prepare—
Still the molten metal bear—
Still the casting comes out true:
Mighty molder, it will do!
Only when the eve shall lay
Aside the labors of the day,
And unto your wife you've come,
Sit not with her gloomy—dumb:
Look not sadly on her boys:
Dash not thus her matron joys:
Give to each and all a hope:
Strength and will with fate can cope.
As you bring the mass aglow,
You can bring or weal or woe;
As you mold or shaft or wheel,
You can mold or woe or weal.
You have strength to make the Day—
Work with will, then: work away!

IV.

Worn and weary workers—ho!
Toil is pain, if so you say;
But to those who singing go
To their labors day by day,
Toil is duty, growth and gain—
Never wasted—never vain.
Worker by the hot highway,
In the blinding blaze of day—
Delver in the deep, dark mine,
Where no rays of sunlight shine—
Patient, pent-up man-machine,
At the loom and shuttle seen,
Weaving in with nicest art
Throbbings of your own poor heart,
Till the subtle textures seem
With your very life to gleam—
Stitcher by the cradle's side,
Where thy fondest hopes abide,
Working with a heart of might
All the day, and half the night,
Sometimes till the east grows red
With the dawning, for thy bread,
Though thou art of feeble limb,
And thine eyes are pain'd and dim,
Sending off, with every piece
Which thy weary hands release,
Portions of thy life wrought in
With the garment white and thin—
Hard the task, but work away:
Yet shall dawn the Better Day.

V.

Faith is might, my brothers. Ho!
Weary workers everywhere,
For the New Age, rounding to
Like a planet, now prepare:
Not by revel—not by rust—
Not by scorning yet your crust—
Not by idle dreams of wealth
Won by luck, or got by stealth—
Not by flattering hopes of ease:
Better, braver things than these,
As its first beams on you fall,
Asks the New Age of you all.
Workers! ye are brothers born—
Treat the title not with scorn.
Workers! born or where or when,
Better, ye are fellow-men:
Workers!—(so 'tis felt at length)—
Ye have got the gift of strength:
Yours the gift of numbers, too,
“Then what?” To yourselves be true!
Work with will, and work away,
Doubting not the Better Day!
Each to each a brother be—
Steadfast in your sympathy;
All to all be fellow-men;
Ye will lack but little then.
“We were made for Labor?” True,
So was labor made for you.
You are Labor's: Labor yours;
This your common weal secures.
Labor has been Money's long;
And in this has been the wrong.
Let it hence be yours, and you
Labor's. Then, with duty due,
And with muscles well combin'd
With your energies of mind,
Workers! ye shall masters be
In the halls of Industry.
Heart and hope! The night withdrawn,
How the coming morn shall dawn!
Work, my brothers—work away,
Doubting not the Better Day!

VI.

“Heart and hope!” my brothers. Ho!
Sons of sorrow, sons of toil,
Ye shall not forever go
Yoked, as now—another's spoil.
See! the night is nearly pass'd,
And the morning dawns at last.
Far behind, the shadows lie
Dark against the troubled sky;
While, before, the arch is gray
Where the harbinger of day,
Rounding up the azure cope,
Flames the Morning Star of Hope.
—Be not hasty, be not rash,
Though its beams around you flash:
Time his offspring will mature—
Work and wait—the end is sure.
Falter not, but bide your time:
Calm endurance is sublime.
—Weary workers! work away:
God will lead the Better Day!