 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
SONG OF LABOR.
We sing the song of the farmer,
Who tills the stubborn soil,
And feeds earth's countless millions
With the fruits of his patient toil.
Who tills the stubborn soil,
And feeds earth's countless millions
With the fruits of his patient toil.
He rises at early dawning,
Nor stays with the setting snn,
But toils 'till the twilight deepens,
Ere the work of the day is done.
Nor stays with the setting snn,
But toils 'till the twilight deepens,
Ere the work of the day is done.
He reaps the golden wheatfield;
And tends the tasseled maize,
And plucks the ripened fruitage,
In the frosty autumn days.
And tends the tasseled maize,
And plucks the ripened fruitage,
In the frosty autumn days.
To Him all look for succor,
On Him the nations lean,
And yet no slave or pauper
By the proud, is thought more mean.
On Him the nations lean,
And yet no slave or pauper
By the proud, is thought more mean.
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In his country's hour of peril,
He is first in the deadly fray,
Filling the ranks with heroes,
And sweeping her foes away.
He is first in the deadly fray,
Filling the ranks with heroes,
And sweeping her foes away.
Would the toiler be a freeman,
He must rise in strengh and might,
Stand with a front undaunted
And vindicate his right.
He must rise in strengh and might,
Stand with a front undaunted
And vindicate his right.
He must leave old party leaders;
They care not for him a straw,
Only to wrong and rob him,
Under the color of law.
They care not for him a straw,
Only to wrong and rob him,
Under the color of law.
He must vote for honest rulers,
Who will give him honest laws,
For men whose hearts are with him,
And love a righteous cause.
Who will give him honest laws,
For men whose hearts are with him,
And love a righteous cause.
Then awake, ye sons of labor,
The day and the hour have come
To break old party shackles,
And stand for hearth and home.
The day and the hour have come
To break old party shackles,
And stand for hearth and home.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |