The Man At The Beach

Don’t scorn the man at the beach, my friend,

     But give him your hand with a smile;

The man who from toil                

          Is grimy with oil

     And dust from the hammer and file.

The man at the beach with ill-fitting frock,

     And overalls yellow with rust;

Tho’ at your command

          He’s worthy your hand

     And worth a place in your trust.

The man at the beach, the mightiest spoke

     In industries’ ponderous wheel;

Who labors all day

          In his clock-like way,

     The master of iron and steel.

He fits each part with a marvelous skill,

     With a patience that knows no halt;

And a great machine

          By the world is seen,

     With scarcely a flaw or fault.

Don’t scorn the man at the beach. Beneath

     The grime shines the face of a man;

He whistles a tune

          To the hammer’s rune,

     And does the best that he can.

He hurries home when his work is done,

     With a manly stride and swing;

Where the waiting few

          Round the fireside view

     The man at the beach as ‘King’!

c. June 10, ‘04

potential additional lyric from the flip side:

He does his share of the great world’s work,

     And labors the live long day;

A man among men

           A

     The man at the beach, I say.