Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TO LABOR, by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE First Line: O ye who toil at forges! Last Line: Which rightly is your own. Subject(s): Factories; Labor & Laborers; Work; Workers | ||||||||
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...AFTER WORKING SIXTY HOURS AGAIN FOR WHAT REASON by HICOK. BOB DAY JOB AND NIGHT JOB by ANDREW HUDGINS BIXBY'S LANDING by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON BUILDING WITH STONE by ROBINSON JEFFERS LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS IN CALIFORNIA: MORNING, EVENING, LATE JANUARY by DENISE LEVERTOV A MEMORY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |
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