I sink my piers to the solid rock, <br /> And I send my steel to the sky, <br />And I pile up the granite, block by block <br /> Full twenty stories high; <br />Nor wind nor weather shall wash away <br />The thing that I've builded, day by day. <br /> <br />Here's something of mine that shall ever stand <br /> Till another shall tear it down; <br />Here is the work of my brain and hand, <br /> Towering above the town. <br />And the idlers gay in their smug content, <br />Have nothing to leave for a monument. <br /> <br />Here from my girders I look below <br /> At the throngs which travel by, <br />For little that's real will they leave to show <br /> When it comes their time to die. <br />But I, when my time of life is through, <br />Will leave this building for men to view. <br /> <br />Oh, the work is hard and the days are long, <br /> But hammers are tools for men, <br />And granite endures and steel is strong, <br /> Outliving both brush and pen. <br />And ages after my voice is stilled, <br />Men shall know I lived by the things I build.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-song-of-the-builder/
