Amador weekly ledger., 1858-05-08
Labor,
By FRANK sOULE.

Despise not labor God did not despise
The handicraft which wrought this gorgeou
globe;
Ihat crowned its glories with yon jewelled skies.
And clad the earth in natures queenly robe.
lie dug the first canal-the rivers bed
Built the first fountain in the gushing spring.
Wove the first carpet for mans naughty tread,
The warp and woof of his first covering.
He made the picture painters initiate;
The statuary's first grand model made
Taught human intellect to re-create
And human ingenuity its trade
Ere great Daguerre had harnessed up the sun,
Apprenticeship at his new art to serve,
greater artist greater things had done,
The wondrous pictures of the optic nerve.
There is no deed of honest labor born,
That is not god-like in the toing limb,
Howe'er the lazy scoff, the brainless scorn
God labored first. toll likens us to Him.
Ashamed Of work, mechanic. with thy tools!
The tree thy axe cut from its native sod,
And turns to useful things --go tell to fools
Was fashioned in the factory of God.
Go build your ships, go, raise your lofty dome.
Your granite temple that through time endures,
Your humble cot, or that proud pile of Rome
His arm has toiled there in advance of yours
He made the flowers you learned florists scan,
And crystalized the atoms Of each gem,
Ennobled labor in great natures plan,
And made it virtues brightest diadem.
Whatever thing is worthy to be had,
Is worthy of the toll by which It's won,
Just as the grain with which the fields are clad,
Pays back the warming labor of the sun.
'Tis not profession that ennobles men,
IT'S not the calling that can DER degrade,
The trowel is as worthy as the pen,
The pen is mghtier than the hero's blade.
The merchant with his ledger and his wares,
The lawyer with his cases and his books,
The toiling farmer mid his wheat. or tares,
The poet by his shady streams and hooks,
The man, whate'er his work, wherever done,
II intellect and honor guide his hand,
Is peer to him who greatest state hath won,
And rich as any Rothschild of the land.
All mere distinctions based upon pretence,
Are merely laughing themes for many hearts.
The miners cradle claims from men of sense,
More honor than the younglng Bonaparte's.
Let fops and fools the sons of toll deride,
On false pretensions brainless ounces live.
Let carpet heroes strut with parlor pride,
Supreme in all which Incidence can give.
But be thou not like them. and envy not
These fancy tomtt burlesques of mankind,
The witless snobs in idleness who rot
Hermaphrodites 'twixt vanity and mind.
Oh, son of toll, be proud, look up arise,
And disregard opinions hollow test,
A false society's DEGREES despise-
He is most worthy who hath labored best.
The scepter is less royal than the hoe,
The sword, beneath whose rule whole nations
wrthe,
And curse the wearer while they feel the blow
Is far less noble than the plough and scythe.
There's more true honor on one tan-browned hand
Rough with the honest work of busy men,
Than all the soft-sknned punies of the land,
The nice white, kdery of "upper ten"
Blow bright the forge. the sturdy anvil ring,
1t sings the anthem of King Labors courts,
And sweeter sounds the gathering hammers bring
Than half a thousand thumped pianofortes.
Fair are the ribbons from the rabbet plane,
As those which grace my lady's hat and cape.
Nor does the joner's honor blush or wane,
Beside the lawyer with his brief and tape.
Pride thee, mechanic, on thy honest trade,
'Tis nobler than the snobs much vaunted pelf,
Mans soulless pride his test of worth has made,
But thine is based on that Of God himself.
San Francisco Globe.