'TIS the Tamer of Iron, The wrestler whose thews Were made for subduing The Thing That Subdues. In a splendour of darkness Encaverned he stands, Amid Pow'rs, amid Terrors, The slaves of his hands. Is he human and mortal, With frailties like mine, Or a demigod rather, Of lineage divine? For the fierce things and stubborn Grow meek in his gaze. The Fire loves to serve him; The Iron obeys. He is child of the daybreak, -- His furnaces roared Ere yet the first ploughshare Beheld the first sword; And over far war-shout, And over far pain, The voice of his hammer Comes pealing amain. He labours where round him The demonlight flares; He is patience that conquers When fury despairs. "Whatsoever is mighty," He sings in his glee, "Twixt hammer and anvil Was fashioned by me." And he smites with the sureness, And moulds with the joy, Of the gods that for pastime Create and destroy; -- The gods at whose bidding The fuel was hurled On the fires of the forges Where shaped is the world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD by ROBERT BURNS A VAGABOND SONG by BLISS CARMAN THE YARN OF THE 'NANCY BELL' by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT CHARLIE MACHREE by WILLIAM JAMES HOPPIN LONDON, 1802 (2) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |