The Workers Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

Tho' the days of the drowsy hamlet,
Of arrow and bow, be done,
Tho' we live 'mid forges and foundries,
And fight with Gatling guns,
Are we not men and Britons
As the people of England then?
Can we not fight the battles
And do the deeds of men?

We may not slumber our lives out
In sweet Arcadian ease,
Hearkening the gentle music
Of the birds on the forest trees.
Tho' these be drowned in the clamour
'Mid the engines' smoke and smell,
Patience and toil and courage
Are the tales the engines tell.

Man's skill, man's labour, man's triumph
Seeking some unknown thing,
And the wondrous art of the ages,
Are the songs that our engines sing.
We honour the days that are vanished,
Nor look on the past in scorn,
And we do, in our generation,
The work to which man was born.