The Horny Hands of Toil

                           (“And blessed are the horny hands of toil.” – James Russell Lowell)

The man who in his office sits

      And smokes a big cigar;

Oft lets his vision wander forth,

      Out where the toilers are.

He sees the stretch of new-ploughed fields,

      And smell the freshened soil;

And says between his puff’n: “Blest be

      The horny hands of toil.

The farmer, bent, with hoe in hand,

      Looks townward day by day,

Where miles of stone skyscrapers stand

      In battlement array.

He sees the dapper businessman

      And says, behind a frown:

“Blest be the man who’s got a place

      Off in the distant town!”

And yet the spotless city man

      Still smokes his big cigar;

He doesn’t go, except in dreams,

      Out where the toilers are.

The farmer ploughs year after year,

      The sweet, fresh smelling soil;

Both are well placed, the city man,

      The horny hand of toil.

May 24, 1910