Alexander Anderson

(1845-1909 / Scotland)

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A Song Of Lanour

Let us sing, my toiling Brothers, with our rough, rude voice a song
That shall live behind, nor do us in the after ages wrong,
But forever throb and whisper strength to nerve our fellow kind
As they rise to fill our footsteps and the space we leave behind.
What though hand and form be rugged? better then for Labour's mart—
I have never heard that Nature changed the colour of the heart—
For the God above hath made us one in flesh and blood with kings,
But the lower use is ours, and all the

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