Classic Poem

On, sons of toil, with brain and brawn
swing high your hammers free;
Let anvils clamor, fires relight
the skies with majesty.

Who dareth cry romance is dead?
Who waileth for the old?
Lo, men of toil, ye crown the earth
with radiance untold.

Uprear your towers to the clouds,
spin ye your leagues of rails,
Forge on your mighty shapes of steel,
fling airships to the gales.

Behold you, masters of the winds,
lords of the lands and seas;
Before your might the nations blend,
swept of vain boundaries.

On, ye that toil, blaze on the path
by seers and prophets trod;
With flame of labor guide mankind,
reveal the way to God.