O YE who toil at forges! Or in the factories stand, Ye are the blood and muscle Of every mighty land. Upon your vast endeavor The thrones of greatness rest, 'T is only by your struggles A nation's name is blest. What though your lives be troubled, And yours laborious days, The glory of a people Shall be your meed of praise. Out of the endless working, Though shrouded seems the goal, Shall come the angel Progress, Advancement of the Whole. O ye who toil at forges Whose thunder drowns your moan, Ye yet shall reap the harvest Which rightly is your own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1809) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SLEEPY HOLLOW by WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING (1817-1901) THE MEMORY OF THE HEART by DANIEL WEBSTER HERE ENTER NOT by KATHARINE CANBY BALDERSTON THE LOST ATLANTIS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON VERSES: THE FIRST BOY by JOHN BYROM |