Men of mastery, wail
your wooden-handled hammers down.
I sing for you a song of pride
for you are busy well into night.
Build up and upon, men.
Your labors are blessings,
that you offer your knowledge
and build cities for growing.
From your brow drips
a dirty bead of sweat.
Your tired limbs never show
the exhaustion found in your furrowed brow.
I sing for you, men of labor
offering your bodies to toil.
I do not envy what you do
but sing a song of praise for you.
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