Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1900-03-03

AS ne leaned, tnere, an OAK WHeTe sea
winds blow,
Our brother with the hoe.
No blot, no monster, no unsightly thing,
The soils long-lineaged king;
His changeless realm, he knows 1t and
commands;
Erect enough he stands,
Tall as his toll. Nor does he bow I'M
blest;
Labor he has, and rest.
Need was, need is, and need will ever be
For him and such as he;
Cast for the gap, with gnarled arm and
limb.
The Mother moulded him,
Long wrought, and nodded him with
mothers care,
Before she set him there
And aye she gives him. mindful of her
own,
Peace of the plant. the stone;
Yea, since above his work he may not
rise,
she makes the field his skies;
See. she that bore him, and metes out the
lot,
He serves her Vex him not
TO scorn the rock whence h was hewn.
| the pit
And what was digged from it;
| Lest he no more in native virtue stand,
| The earth-sword in his hand.
| But follow sorry phantoms to and fro,
And let a kingdom go.
Mr. Schuyler took for his subject THE
| Incapable and dixie Bill Nye and Truth
| full James in the case Of the heather
Chinee) went for him then and there.
| ~. th..
| vdual is, according to Mr.. Schuyler
No sweat of manly effort damps his
| brow;
In workshop, field or mart he has no
| place.
To earn his daily bread he knows not
| how,
Or scornful, counts the offered means
| disgrace.
Too proud to dig. yet not too proud to
| The bread of strangers to his face and
! name;
Homeless he wanders with uncertain
OF thrift the scorn, of fate the idle
| game.
| What though he wear the hall mark Of
A weakling in the world. he stands con-
| feSSed;
| For lack of will to use the humber Tools
jest.
The precious promise of his youthful
All untitled. upon his manhood waits
He wakens to his shame with bitter tears
And knows himself to be the thing he
hates.
Incapable His destiny we spell
In logic of memorable fact:
At naught may his untutored hand excel;
The Df RAIIbpp hlg
act.
* song Although il did not receive
the first prize. nor yet the second, are
going to print the whole of ii. Here il
From Giant-forests. hewn.
And golden fields of grain:
From the furrowed hills and the bleching
mills
With their fuel Of hand ana brain;
From the mountains mne-dug depth
To star paths made by men.
Sounds one vast song that rolls along
And circles the world again:
Work-Let the anvils clang,
WOrk-Let us saw the seam,
Let us bind the girth of the mighty
earth
With the music of our theme,
Sing as the wheels spin round,
Laugh at the red sparks flight.
And life will flash from the sledge's
clash
Till all the land is light,
over the deserts waste
We measure the miles of chain
Till the Steam King rOarS from both the
shores
And rends the hills in twain,
We search in the oceans bed,
And bridge where the torrent hurled
And We stretch wire like line of fire
To signal through the world,
And Kingdoms Of rumbling clay
You with gold in its yellow mould
Rottng your lives away.
Rest when the task is done
Sleep when the day goes by.
And the sweat Of the hand that ploughs
the land
Are gems that you cannot buy!
Work-Let the anvils clang,
WOrk-Let us saw the seam,
Let rs bind the girth Of the mighty
With the music Of our theme,
Sing az the wheels spin round.
Laugh at the red sparks flight,
And life will flash from the sledge's
Till all the land is light.
From the wealth Of the living age.
From the garden grave of death.
Comes one acclaim like a furnace flame
Famed to a white hot breath,
Honor the Man who Tolls
And the sound of the anVilS ring;
From a deathless sky a hand on high
Has reached to make a King!
The executor Of the atlantic MONTH";
~" and the anthologist Of the Victorian
poets mention that from the beginning
they had in mind the fact that the spur
to great poetry has never been a spur Of
gold" In other words. verse made to or
der. and in the hope Of getting a prize. is
not likely to go down the ages That, ~
the strange American gentleman r.
marked to young Mr. ChuZZlewit, is pow
erful true.