A WORKING smith all other trades excels, In useful labour wheresoe'er he dwells; Toss up your caps, ye sons of Vulcan, then, For there are none of all the sons of men That can with the brave working smiths compare; Their work is hard, and jolly lads they are. What though a smith looks sometimes very black, And sometimes gets but one shirt to his back, And that is out at elbows, and so thin That you through twenty holes may see his skin; Yet when he's drest and clean, you all will say, That smiths are men not made of common clay. They serve the living, and they serve the dead, They serve the mitre and the crowned head, They all are men of honour and renown, Honest, and just, and loyal to the crown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 33 by JAMES JOYCE SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 5 by CONRAD AIKEN THE TRASH MEN by CHARLES BUKOWSKI IN LOVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A FLORIDA SUNDAY by SIDNEY LANIER CONSECRATED GROUND; READ AT THE NEW YORK CITY HALL by EDWIN MARKHAM |