The Muse of Labor

I come, O heroes, to the world gone wrong;
I bring the hope of nations; and I bear
The warm first rush of rapture in my song,
The faint first light of morning on my hair.

I look upon the ages from a tower;
I am the Muse of the Fraternal State;
No hand can hold me from my crowning hour;
My song is Freedom and my step is Fate.

The toilers go on broken at the heart;
They send the spell of beauty on all lands;
But what avail? the builders have no part—
No share in all the glory of their hands.

I have descended from Alcyone;
I am the muse of Labor and of Mirth;
I come to break the chain of infamy,
That Greed’s blind hammers forge about the earth.

I have descended from the Hidden Place,
To make dumb spirits speak and dead feet start:
I feel the wind of battles in my face,
I hear the song of nations in my heart.

I stand by Him, the Hero of the Cross,
To hurl down traitors that misspend His bread;
I touch the star of mystery and loss
To shake the kingdoms of the living dead.

I wear the flower of Christus for a crown;
I poise the suns and give to each a name;
And through the hushed Eternity bend down
To strengthen gods and keep their souls from blame.

I come to overthrow the ancient wrong,
To let the joy of nations rise again;
I am Unselfish Service, I am Song,
I am the Hope that feeds the hearts of men.

I am the Vision in the world-eclipse,
And where I pass the feet of Beauty burn;
And when I set the bugle to my lips,
The youth of work-worn races will return.

I am Religion and the church I build,
Stands on the sacred flesh with passion packed;
In me the ancient gospels are fulfilled—
In me the symbol rises into Fact.

I am the maker of the People’s bread,
I bear the little burdens of the day;
Yet in the Mystery of Song I tread
The endless heavens and show the stars their way.