Labor's Songs
From the mountain and the valley,
From the wayside and the glen,
From the street and from the alley,
Come the songs of working men.
Where the fire is brightly glowing,
By the furnace and the mold,
Where the lurid flame is flowing,
Labor's songs are sung and told.
Where the hammers ply the quiest,
And the anvil's notes resound,
Where the sparks are flying thickest,
There do labor's songs abound.
Where the husbandman is plowing,
Throwing up the yielding soil,
And the sower busy sowing
That which yields him bread for toil;
Where the sickle gleams so brightly,
As the reaper strides along;
Where the gleaners follow lightly,
There they chant the labor song.
Where the ponderous wheels are rushing,
In the mill so worn and old, —
Hark ! the songs of labor gushing
As are crushed the grains of gold.
Thus, from mountain and from valley,
From the wayside and the glen,
From busy street and crowded alley,
Come the songs of workingmen.
