The Laborer.

Author:Bem, Alfred
Position:Poems of Praise - Poem

The Laborer The man who toils from morn to night In rain or shine, in heat or cold, With dangers everywhere in sight, Who toils until he is too old, And ever works, He never shirks, What is his boon, his compensation, Of all the wealth of his creation? With pick and shovel underground, With dynamite he ventures bold Far, far beneath all human sound To break the rocks in search of gold. No gold for him, His share is slim, It's just enough to check starvation Enough to chain him to his station. He makes and guides the speedy train From town to town, from land to land, And rather dies in awful pain In mishaps to leave his stand. Oh human fools! What willing tools! But all you lack is education To bring about your elevation. He steers the ship with nerve and skill Through weather-beaten seas, He builds the palace, builds the mill And all...

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