Full Lyrics
Whom shall we call our heroes?
To whom our praises sing?
The pampered child of fortune?
The titled lord or king?
They live by other’s labor,
Take all and nothing give;
The noblest types of manhood,
Are they who work to live.
Then honor to our workmen,
Our hardy sons of toil;
The heroes of the workshop,
And monarchs of the soil!
For many barren ages,
Earth hid her treasures deep;
And all her giant forces
Seemed bound as in a sleep.
Then labor’s “Anvil Chorus”
Broke on the startled air,
And lo! the earth in rapture
Laid all her treasures bare.
The Grand Almighty Builder,
Who fashioned out this earth,
Hath tamped his seal of honor
On labor, from her birth.
In every angel flower
That blossoms from the sod,
Behold, the master touches
The handiwork of God!
