The Mechanic

Oh, when thou walkest by the river's side,
Thy bulky figure outlined in the wave,
Or, on thine adze-staff resting, 'neath the ship
Thy strokes have shaped, or hearest loud and brave
The clangour of the boastful forge, think not
To strength of limb, to sinews large and tough,
Are given rights masterless and vantage-proof,
Which the pale scholar and his puny hand
Writing his thoughts upon the idle sand,
May not possess as full: oh, maddened, drink not
With greedy ear what selfish Passion pours!
His a sway peculiar is, no less than yours.
The inner world is his, the outer thine —
(And both are God's) — a world, maiden and new,
To shape and finish forth, of rock and wood,
Iron and brass, to fashion, mould, and hew —
In countless cunning forms to recreate,
Till the great God of order shall proclaim it
« Good!"
Proportioned fair, as in its first estate.
It consecrates whate'er it strikes — each blow,
From the small whisper of the tinkling smith,
Up to the big-voiced sledge that heaving slow
Roars 'gainst the massy bar, and tears
Its entrail, glowing, as with angry teeth —
Anchors that hold a world should thus-wise grow.
In the First Builder's gracious spirit-work —
Through hall, through enginery, and temples meek,
In grandeur towered, or lapsing, beauty-sleek,
Let order and creative fitness shine:
Though mountains are no more to rear,
Though woods may rise again no more,
The noble task to reproduce is thine!
The spreading branch, the firm-set peak, may live
With thee, and in thy well-sped labours thrive.
The untried forces of the air, the earth, the sea,
Wait at thy bidding: oh, compel their powers
To uses holy! Let them ever be
Servants to tend and bless these new-found bowers,
And make them household-workers, free and swift,
On daily use — on daily service bent:
Her face again old Eden may uplift,
And God look down the open firmament.